Art class. The words conjure up visions of paint, of serious students focused on the creation of a beautiful work of art. It's a class that people want to be part of; since it's an optional class, there aren't any students disrupting the serene atmosphere of creativity. Nowhere in this idyllic fantasy is there room for screams.
So, of course, that's what happens in mine.
Right now, you're thinking- OMG OH NO! Is someone dying? What kind of catastrophe is this? Did a fisher wander in and destroy a priceless work of art? Was there a disagreement over paint colours during which someone was strangled? (Yes, those art students can get pretty fierce when someone harms their work. Also, they have access to all sorts of weird solvents. So, basically, if you've made one of them mad and your Ice Capp tastes off... don't drink it.)
No, what actually happened is that someone got stabbed by a chisel. More precisely, me. (DON'T WORRY, I'M STILL ALIVE. Mostly. Feel free to send flowers, though.) Now you're thinking- you just told us not to make an art student angry. Follow your own advice!
...The truth is, I have a nemesis. There's nothing I can do. She's hated me from the moment she came to this school, and she was just waiting for the perfect opportunity to POUNCE... or stab, as the case may be.
NO. IT'S A LIE. (Okay, the nemesis part is true. More about her another day. But she didn't stab me.) The actual truth? I am a klutz. I trip over orange squares on the floor. (In my defence, I had my eyes closed and my balance was impaired. No one believed me.) Giving me a chisel was a really stupid idea. (I told my teacher this, but he didn't believe me. In fact, he laughed.)
Well, he wasn't laughing when there was BLOOD ALL OVER THE FLOOR. I think one girl actually fainted at the sight. (The stereotypical art student: pale, thin, glasses if they're male, hands stained with various mediums- not blood- nervous, apt to throw random references to artists into their conversation. So, not the sort of person who's really comfortable when one's hand starts gushing.)
And what do I end up with at the end? A blob of wax. (Yes, we were carving wax. No, I don't know why.) Not even an attractive blob, just a blob. (Also, there might still be blood on it. I'm a little scared to check.) Compare this with the princesses and penguins and platypuses (platypi? They're one of my favourite animals and yet their name still confuses me. Maybe it's the blood loss) that my classmates ended up with, and you can see why I'm feeling a little disgruntled. (Also confused. From the blood loss. I'm not usually confused, right? HAHAHA. Feel free to laugh now.)