Pupil

Stu's and dents.

Sitting at his desk, Ra’s eyes languish, furthest from content. It’s the friction: the pupil’s steady boundary. He is a parabole, that much is sure, but the origins of his beginning, that is the stuff of one history in particular. Of a society who would hold it; of a society whose brain would lie, claiming it knows no better.

 

So it was he uncrossed his legs from underneath the basic wooden table. Of the many, he had chosen this one. Or was it assigned? Regardless, his vision sought reprisal from his surroundings while in the chair. There is a war going on, just trying to sit, be, and exist. Public school is tough. They are all the same, yet all so different: the angles, the legs -- some are wobbly, and some are not.  

 

“Pupil, do you agree? Does Horus see behind the sun?” 

 

Ra blinks up the mountain in thought. It feels like his eye is looking through water. “I have reason to believe there is more than one valid premise, Priest.”

 

“Is that so? Which path would you walk then?” 

 

The day stretches on. Shadows grow biggest the nearer they get to home.  Is this even Egypt? He wants to laugh, but there is a certain gravity, the earthly body kind.