Poets logo

Too Kool in Skool

Dream Journal Poetry, Vol. IV

By Orion J. ZedPublished 2 months ago 3 min read
Too Kool in Skool
Photo by Paul Carroll on Unsplash

Back in school, readying a half-used bottle of hand sanitiser while looking at bags of healthy snacks that look like tiny multigrain sandwiches, taking particular notice of the word “Multigrain” splashed beneath the logo in bluish-cyan.

My thoughts: If only they were-

I halt my inner monologue as I notice a red-haired teenage girl who vaguely resembles Christine Reynolds from the television series Spellbinder (known as Dwa światy, meaning “Two worlds,” in Poland) is standing to my right, palms opened and held together.

I look at the sanitiser in my hand, and realise she’s requesting a dollop. The girl smiles as we make eye contact, and I do one of the things I’ve always done best…

I share… beyond expectations.

Me: “Here. Take it.”

Girl: “R-Really? Are you sure?”

The girl’s reaction suggests she wasn’t expecting such generosity, expecting one tiny squirt, not the whole bottle.

Me: “Of course! I just bought a whole bunch of these, so I’m all set.”

The girl giggles with joy.

Girl: “Wow, thanks, mister!”

I wonder if there’s a deeper connection between this place and myself… I mean, why would I keep a half-dozen bottles of my own hand sanitiser near a display of multigrain sandwich fun snacks and a tiny refrigerator filled with assorted beverages in what resembles a university cafeteria?

I’m interrupted by another voice.

Boy: “Wow, really?”

Girl: “Yep! He’s way nicer than I thought. He gave me this hand sanitiser and a whole orange!”

I notice the bowl of fruit at the edge of the display, taking note of the huge orange, and that I’m happy to share; after all, I don’t really like oranges, so there’s no sense in letting it go to waste when someone else wants to enjoy it.

Me: “Go for it.”

Girl: “Thanks, mister!”

The girl picks up the orange with glee.

Boy: “Wow, he is nice!”

Girl: “Told ya! I can’t believe-

Suddenly, an alarm sounds, leaving me to work out what it means. A male voice, no doubt these young students’ chaperone, calls out in a firm, yet compassionate, tone.

Teacher: “Alright, everyone, you know the score. Let’s all get together in an orderly-

Ah, yes… a fire drill. Of course. I remember these from when I was in school. I decide to go along with it; no sense in not being a good influence on these fresh minds, given the role I play in society.

I notice a cute guy my age relaxing in a nearby chair, obviously not a part of this… tour group, I guess? I consider the idea of starting a conversation, but figure it’s best to go along with this fire drill for the sake of the students.

Besides, the guy relaxing next to him may be his partner, and I’d rather not create a misunderstanding-turned-scandal; those tabloids can be as harmful and damaging as they are annoying and untruthful.

Once we’ve relocated outside the building, which might not actually be a school after all, the teacher discusses the results of the fire drill as I head back into the possibly-a-cafeteria.

As I head back inside, something catches my attention in my lower-right peripheral vision, revealed to be a bird that strongly resembles the Pokémon Kilowattrell on what resembles a bus’ entrance step.

Observing its movement in an attempt at augury, I notice as the bird bobs its head up and down, pointing its beak in an 8 O’Clock direction.

Me: “Look to the left.”

The bird pivots on the spot, as if to reset the sign it’s attempting to communicate. This time it tilts its body up and down a few times, a bit like a dippy-bird, before slowly resuming its 8 O’Clock direction head bob.

This time I actually look to the left, and notice a particular apartment block in the distance, just beyond the oval… maybe this is a campus, after all.

Me: “Oh yeah… I vaguely recognise that building.”

The bird pivots again, this time in a way that seems to indicate I’m “nearly there,” before immediately resuming its 8 O’Clock directional head bob. Once more, I slowly turn my head to the left… and my shoulders, it seems…

…as I slowly roll from my right side onto my back, in this bed in the real world, left only with this last, extremely vivid scene of my dream, a vague recollection of a scene from earlier that night involving a small name geek culture business and lounge, and a strong urge to do one thing…


nature poetrysurreal poetrysocial commentaryperformance poetryinspirationalexcerptscelebritiesart

About the Creator

Orion J. Zed

The quintessential struggling artist, emerging from a cocoon of abuse as the gold-hearted, silver-tongued, copper-haired social butterfly he was meant to be…

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights


There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2023 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.