[Author's Note: This is original fiction. No stealing. Thank you.
This is kind of a weird story. It was a request, but I kind of bent my own rules about halfway through when I suddenly got an idea. Also, if anyone has read Scat by Carl Hiaasen, the teacher is based off of Mrs. Starch.
Thanks,
-AL]
"Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath,
Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death."
"...And that's the end of Macbeth's Act Five scene six," Mrs. Carlson said, snapping her Shakespeare: Folger Edition shut.
Casey's eyelids were getting heavier by the minute. The threat of falling asleep in Gnarl-son's class was growing by the minute, as she certainly wasn't the teacher you wanted to tick off, but Casey found that he was caring less and less as the class went on. He'd take a punishment, so long as it meant five more minutes of blissful sleep. He hadn't seemed to be getting any lately...
Mrs. Carlson picked up a plastic green ruler from her desk and twirled it in her fingers. "Who can tell us what a 'harbinger' is?" she asked, scanning the room to see which of her students would least likely know the answer to the question, until her hawk-like eyes stopped on Casey's slumped-over posture.
"Mr. Albright!" she snapped.
Casey didn't budge an inch.
Mrs. Carlson rolled her eyes and swiftly made her way over to Casey's desk. As her heels clicked past each student in her way, they flinched slightly out of pure terror. Secretly, they were all glad she was picking on Casey instead of them. The AP English class had one simple, unspoken rule: every man for himself.
"Mr. Albright!" she screeched into Casey's unaware ear, and then she sharply rapped him on his exposed knuckles.
Casey shot straight up like a rocket. Slightly dazed, he checked his surroundings and met Mrs. Carlson's gaze. He smiled stupidly, leaned backwards a bit, and finally looked away.
Mrs. Carlson cleared her throat. "Mr. Albright, would you like to tell the class what a 'harbinger' is?"
"A harbinger?" Casey racked his brains and came up with nothing. Making a point not to look Mrs. Carlson in the eyes, he shrugged slightly.
"I guess it's safe to say that you've been paying no attention to class today, isn't it?" she noted harshly before turning on the spot and click-click-clicking back to the front of the classroom. She spoke, but this time to the entire class. "Since Casey has been kind enough to nap during my class period, you all will be punished with extra homework. But, don't thank me class; thank the kindly and attentive Mr. Albright."
Casey felt a combination of pitiful looks and angry stares on his skin. He tried to shake it off by tuning into Mrs. Carlson's current lecture.
"Now, since no one seems to know, I will tell you what a 'harbinger' is. When Shakespeare wrote these lines of Macbeth, he intended the trumpets to be harbingers of the gore of battle. In this case, a harbinger is an omen."
Casey felt his consciousness slipping yet again, but he fought it off as Mrs. Carlson rattled off their homework for that night. The rest of the class scowled as they scribbled it down into their agenda books and finally packed their bags up in preparation for the bell.
"Thanks for the extra twenty pages," Rhea sarcastically told Casey after class on their walk home from school.
"Yeah, no problem. At least she didn't decapitate me with that ruler," Casey replied, calmly.
"Huh. You know, if she did, we might not have gotten the homework..." Rhea trailed off, thoughtfully.
"Shut up, Rhea."
"But seriously, sleep much?" Rhea grinned evilly.
"I got, like, two hours last night. Mom and Dad were fighting 'til about two AM. It was terrible," Casey said, glumly. He shoved his hands into his pockets.
"Well, at least the reading was interesting," Rhea stated, trying to be more optimistic. "I like this Shakespeare. It's more gory than the other ones. Especially the 'harbinger' line. I loved it."
Casey didn't say anything.
Rhea had been Casey's neighbor and best friend every since he could remember. She had also always been obsessed with the idea of blood and violence ever since he could remember. She wasn't exactly dangerous, just creepy at times.
Rhea went on. "The harbinger thing really made me think, though--"
"...That's a rare occurrence," Casey cut in.
Rhea was also blond.
Rhea pretended she hadn't heard him and Casey chuckled. "Look, I was just thinking about other harbingers there are that people believe in. You know, like, omens. I though it was kind of awesome..."
Casey actually gave it some thought. "Yeah, I think I know what you're saying. It's weird though. What if they were true? Like, I saw a grim and then I knew I was going to die soon enough?"
"That'd be so cool!" Rhea exclaimed, and Casey gave her an odd look.
"You know what I mean," Rhea explained. "All you would have to do is avoid the dog and you'd never die. I wish harbingers were real..."
Suddenly, an old lady cut into their path. "Ah, but harbingers are true, young Rhea, young Casey."
Casey shivered as the lady's crazed irises eyed his and Rhea's faces hungrily.
"Sorry," Casey started, stepping in front of Rhea. "We really need to get home. We're in a rush, see."
"It didn't sound like it," the crone said, matter-of-factly. "But that is a harbinger..."
Rhea furrowed her brow. "What?!"
"He stepped in front of you," the old lady pointed out. "That's a sign of love." The lady looked Casey up and down. "...And he looked like a god catch. You're a lucky one, Rhea."
Now, Rhea looked both outraged and slightly baffled at the same time. "What?! He and I...we're not...you know..."
Her rage was rendering her incoherent.
Casey, on the other hand, almost laughed, "Listen, you've got it all wrong...Miss...uh..."
"Elana," the old lady assisted him.
"Miss Elana," Casey continued. "Rhea and I aren't like that. We're just good friends."
"Friends, huh? Do you love her?"
"Well, yeah, but...well..."
Rhea looked at him angrily. "You do love me, don't you?"
Elana looked at him expectantly.
"Yeah, of course. As a friend, obviously."
"Would you give your life for her?"
Casey hesitated for a moment and Rhea's face grew redder in that same moment.
"I see how it is, Casey," Rhea said, practically spitting the words at her. "I'm going home. Don't bother following me." She slung her bag over her shoulder and stomped off down the sidewalk littered with willow branches.
"Thanks, lady," Casey snarled at Elana, gripping the shoulder straps of his backpack tightly. He was about to trudge off himself.
"I knew what would happen when I said that. I can tell what you are. You're exactly the harbinger of selfishness, Casey." Elana raised her eyebrows at Casey's back and counted the second before he turned back around to face her.
Finally, he swiveled around, his face cleared of emotion. "I'm a harbinger?" There was much skepticism in his voice.
"I know you love Rhea," Elana said, simply.
"No, you don't." Casey narrowed his eyes.
"Rhea is an omen herself. All humans are. They have one prominent trait and that is there omen. Her omen is tolerance," Elana told Casey in a bored voice. "Did you notice how she didn't get that mad at you after you earned the class extra homework? But you can only push her so far..."
"How...how do you know?" Casey's face was losing its color.
"I'm the harbinger of knowledge." Elana looked as if everyone in the world should know that and that he was stupid for not realizing it.
"Okay...Elana," Casey began, choosing his words carefully. "Well, I know selfishness is not a particularly attractive trait. It's not one that...tolerance deserves." Casey gulped and thought of Rhea, her sarcasm, her creepy love of blood and gore, her...happiness.
"Oh, you can change your harbinger. Normally, yours changes upon your mood. You just have to believe in whatever it is you want to be," Elana said, putting her hands on her hips. "The question is, what do you want to be?"
"A good friend. I want Rhea to realize that I made a mistake. That I love her. I want things to return to the way they were before I said that. I don't like it when people are mad at me. She deserves a better friend with...a better harbinger."
Elana chuckled. "Sounds good to me, Mr. Friendship."
"So...it's good now? I'm friendly?" Casey questioned, nervously.
"Of course it is, boy. Your harbinger is fine."
"So...uh...what now?" Casey wondered aloud. He honestly had had too odd a day to know what was going to hit him next.
Elana threw her hands up into the hair and leaned back on the trunk of a willow. "What now? What now?!" Elana laughed until she sputtered with a wheezy cough. "Go get your girl, Casey, that's what now! Keep standing there and you're gonna turn into the harbinger of stupidity!"
Not knowing what to say to that, Casey started to walk off, but remembered something and turned around. "Thank you, Elana, for everything..." he said, but stopped as he realized there was no one standing behind him.
Casey Albright rubbed his eyes, blinked a few times, hit himself in the forehead with his palm once and looked back. Elana was nowhere to be found.
"Well, that figures..." Casey spoke to himself, slightly spooked. "But at least Shakespeare taught me something about life today. About...my harbinger."
For: The Game Maker Keyword: Harbinger.
This is kind of a weird story. It was a request, but I kind of bent my own rules about halfway through when I suddenly got an idea. Also, if anyone has read Scat by Carl Hiaasen, the teacher is based off of Mrs. Starch.
Thanks,
-AL]
"Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath,
Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death."
"...And that's the end of Macbeth's Act Five scene six," Mrs. Carlson said, snapping her Shakespeare: Folger Edition shut.
Casey's eyelids were getting heavier by the minute. The threat of falling asleep in Gnarl-son's class was growing by the minute, as she certainly wasn't the teacher you wanted to tick off, but Casey found that he was caring less and less as the class went on. He'd take a punishment, so long as it meant five more minutes of blissful sleep. He hadn't seemed to be getting any lately...
Mrs. Carlson picked up a plastic green ruler from her desk and twirled it in her fingers. "Who can tell us what a 'harbinger' is?" she asked, scanning the room to see which of her students would least likely know the answer to the question, until her hawk-like eyes stopped on Casey's slumped-over posture.
"Mr. Albright!" she snapped.
Casey didn't budge an inch.
Mrs. Carlson rolled her eyes and swiftly made her way over to Casey's desk. As her heels clicked past each student in her way, they flinched slightly out of pure terror. Secretly, they were all glad she was picking on Casey instead of them. The AP English class had one simple, unspoken rule: every man for himself.
"Mr. Albright!" she screeched into Casey's unaware ear, and then she sharply rapped him on his exposed knuckles.
Casey shot straight up like a rocket. Slightly dazed, he checked his surroundings and met Mrs. Carlson's gaze. He smiled stupidly, leaned backwards a bit, and finally looked away.
Mrs. Carlson cleared her throat. "Mr. Albright, would you like to tell the class what a 'harbinger' is?"
"A harbinger?" Casey racked his brains and came up with nothing. Making a point not to look Mrs. Carlson in the eyes, he shrugged slightly.
"I guess it's safe to say that you've been paying no attention to class today, isn't it?" she noted harshly before turning on the spot and click-click-clicking back to the front of the classroom. She spoke, but this time to the entire class. "Since Casey has been kind enough to nap during my class period, you all will be punished with extra homework. But, don't thank me class; thank the kindly and attentive Mr. Albright."
Casey felt a combination of pitiful looks and angry stares on his skin. He tried to shake it off by tuning into Mrs. Carlson's current lecture.
"Now, since no one seems to know, I will tell you what a 'harbinger' is. When Shakespeare wrote these lines of Macbeth, he intended the trumpets to be harbingers of the gore of battle. In this case, a harbinger is an omen."
Casey felt his consciousness slipping yet again, but he fought it off as Mrs. Carlson rattled off their homework for that night. The rest of the class scowled as they scribbled it down into their agenda books and finally packed their bags up in preparation for the bell.
"Thanks for the extra twenty pages," Rhea sarcastically told Casey after class on their walk home from school.
"Yeah, no problem. At least she didn't decapitate me with that ruler," Casey replied, calmly.
"Huh. You know, if she did, we might not have gotten the homework..." Rhea trailed off, thoughtfully.
"Shut up, Rhea."
"But seriously, sleep much?" Rhea grinned evilly.
"I got, like, two hours last night. Mom and Dad were fighting 'til about two AM. It was terrible," Casey said, glumly. He shoved his hands into his pockets.
"Well, at least the reading was interesting," Rhea stated, trying to be more optimistic. "I like this Shakespeare. It's more gory than the other ones. Especially the 'harbinger' line. I loved it."
Casey didn't say anything.
Rhea had been Casey's neighbor and best friend every since he could remember. She had also always been obsessed with the idea of blood and violence ever since he could remember. She wasn't exactly dangerous, just creepy at times.
Rhea went on. "The harbinger thing really made me think, though--"
"...That's a rare occurrence," Casey cut in.
Rhea was also blond.
Rhea pretended she hadn't heard him and Casey chuckled. "Look, I was just thinking about other harbingers there are that people believe in. You know, like, omens. I though it was kind of awesome..."
Casey actually gave it some thought. "Yeah, I think I know what you're saying. It's weird though. What if they were true? Like, I saw a grim and then I knew I was going to die soon enough?"
"That'd be so cool!" Rhea exclaimed, and Casey gave her an odd look.
"You know what I mean," Rhea explained. "All you would have to do is avoid the dog and you'd never die. I wish harbingers were real..."
Suddenly, an old lady cut into their path. "Ah, but harbingers are true, young Rhea, young Casey."
Casey shivered as the lady's crazed irises eyed his and Rhea's faces hungrily.
"Sorry," Casey started, stepping in front of Rhea. "We really need to get home. We're in a rush, see."
"It didn't sound like it," the crone said, matter-of-factly. "But that is a harbinger..."
Rhea furrowed her brow. "What?!"
"He stepped in front of you," the old lady pointed out. "That's a sign of love." The lady looked Casey up and down. "...And he looked like a god catch. You're a lucky one, Rhea."
Now, Rhea looked both outraged and slightly baffled at the same time. "What?! He and I...we're not...you know..."
Her rage was rendering her incoherent.
Casey, on the other hand, almost laughed, "Listen, you've got it all wrong...Miss...uh..."
"Elana," the old lady assisted him.
"Miss Elana," Casey continued. "Rhea and I aren't like that. We're just good friends."
"Friends, huh? Do you love her?"
"Well, yeah, but...well..."
Rhea looked at him angrily. "You do love me, don't you?"
Elana looked at him expectantly.
"Yeah, of course. As a friend, obviously."
"Would you give your life for her?"
Casey hesitated for a moment and Rhea's face grew redder in that same moment.
"I see how it is, Casey," Rhea said, practically spitting the words at her. "I'm going home. Don't bother following me." She slung her bag over her shoulder and stomped off down the sidewalk littered with willow branches.
"Thanks, lady," Casey snarled at Elana, gripping the shoulder straps of his backpack tightly. He was about to trudge off himself.
"I knew what would happen when I said that. I can tell what you are. You're exactly the harbinger of selfishness, Casey." Elana raised her eyebrows at Casey's back and counted the second before he turned back around to face her.
Finally, he swiveled around, his face cleared of emotion. "I'm a harbinger?" There was much skepticism in his voice.
"I know you love Rhea," Elana said, simply.
"No, you don't." Casey narrowed his eyes.
"Rhea is an omen herself. All humans are. They have one prominent trait and that is there omen. Her omen is tolerance," Elana told Casey in a bored voice. "Did you notice how she didn't get that mad at you after you earned the class extra homework? But you can only push her so far..."
"How...how do you know?" Casey's face was losing its color.
"I'm the harbinger of knowledge." Elana looked as if everyone in the world should know that and that he was stupid for not realizing it.
"Okay...Elana," Casey began, choosing his words carefully. "Well, I know selfishness is not a particularly attractive trait. It's not one that...tolerance deserves." Casey gulped and thought of Rhea, her sarcasm, her creepy love of blood and gore, her...happiness.
"Oh, you can change your harbinger. Normally, yours changes upon your mood. You just have to believe in whatever it is you want to be," Elana said, putting her hands on her hips. "The question is, what do you want to be?"
"A good friend. I want Rhea to realize that I made a mistake. That I love her. I want things to return to the way they were before I said that. I don't like it when people are mad at me. She deserves a better friend with...a better harbinger."
Elana chuckled. "Sounds good to me, Mr. Friendship."
"So...it's good now? I'm friendly?" Casey questioned, nervously.
"Of course it is, boy. Your harbinger is fine."
"So...uh...what now?" Casey wondered aloud. He honestly had had too odd a day to know what was going to hit him next.
Elana threw her hands up into the hair and leaned back on the trunk of a willow. "What now? What now?!" Elana laughed until she sputtered with a wheezy cough. "Go get your girl, Casey, that's what now! Keep standing there and you're gonna turn into the harbinger of stupidity!"
Not knowing what to say to that, Casey started to walk off, but remembered something and turned around. "Thank you, Elana, for everything..." he said, but stopped as he realized there was no one standing behind him.
Casey Albright rubbed his eyes, blinked a few times, hit himself in the forehead with his palm once and looked back. Elana was nowhere to be found.
"Well, that figures..." Casey spoke to himself, slightly spooked. "But at least Shakespeare taught me something about life today. About...my harbinger."
For: The Game Maker Keyword: Harbinger.
