Mari Sola
‘Ok,’ she whispered as she sat down facing Mr Mallard, ‘what do you have to teach me today?’
This week’s classroom was sparsely furnished with high ceilings causing any movement to echo around the cavernous space; despite its size it was warm. The grey walls brought the space to life as they reflected natural light evenly around the room. The light flooded through the large windows, even on dark grey rain filled days like today. The seat however was uncomfortable, a deterrent she surmised to stop timewasters asking meaningless questions of the Master. She lay her small plump cushion on the bench, placed her hoodie and canvas backpack underneath the bench and tucked her feet in front of them, her faded black Converse crossed over each other with laces touching the ground. On her lap sat a well-thumbed note pad and in her right hand a pen ready to scribble down the notes from today’s lesson. Usually, her notes consisted of a torrential waterfall of words, falling over each other. It all made sense to her, providing she could see the colours.