Psychology Class (OPEN TO STUDENTS)

[Sync]

& I WAKE UP EVERY EVENING
WITH A BIG SMILE ON MY FACE
( and it never seems out of place )

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Black leather clad feet strolled along the corridor, his arms clutched around a pile of new exercise books and resting strategically upon them was a mug of boiling hot coffee. Whatever possessed him to do this was beyond himself, but he had no other way of getting everything to class. Macaulay trailed behind him, as she had flat out refused to stay in the apartment with Marble and the rabbits. Not that Trevor could blame her, Marble was enough to make anyone go insane. He knew she would be no trouble and would stay under his desk or beside it the whole class. Me picked up pace when his classroom came into view, causing the coffee mug to stumble slightly but didn't spill. He carefully untangled one arm to open the classroom door, which he did successfully, and then ushered Macaulay inside. She immediately made her way to his desk, which was empty as this was the first Psychology class of the year, and wriggled under it. Her large, shaggy frame curled up and then she let out a sigh. "Alright for some," he chuckled, reaching up for the mug and placing it on his desk. Then, he dropped the exercise books on the first desk that the students will sit on. Hopefully they would take the hint and pick one up. He knew that most of the teachers had them bring their own files, but he wanted them to leave their exercise books here. They would be putting a log of their dreams at the beginning of every class, and he would look at them.

He moved to the white board, and began to write on it. In the top right hand corner, he put his name. Mr. Evans.

DREAMS

Definition: A dream is a succession of images, thoughts, sounds, or emotions which pass through the mind during sleep.

At the beginning of every class, even once we have finished the topic, jot down as much of your dream from the previous night as you can remember. Start with what you dreamt about last night.

Once he had written that down, which took up a lot of the board as he had big writing, he sat down on his chair behind his desk. All he could do now was await the arrival of his students, which shouldn't be too long as it was five minutes until the bell was supposed to go. As he sat, his posture was formal yet his expression open and friendly. It was the way he was brought up: Make the best impression possible and life shall take you places. His fathers words rang through his mind, causing him to grin. He lived by those words, and treasured them dearly.

WORDS,, 455
TAGGED,, Psychology students
OUTFIT,, CLICK
LISTENING TO,, Pack Up [by Eliza Doolittle
NOTES,, Short but sweet, will improve <3
TEMPLATE,, by PANIC! ITS LAUZ of CAUTION

[Ω-Admin-Cara-Ω]

Cara walked down the hall. Today she was wearing her black skirt suit, the days were getting cooler but still not cold enough to begin wearing her pant suits again. In her hand she held her leather satchel that contained a folder she had purchased for the class, her glasses case and her pencil case. She was slightly apprehensive about going to this class, she had already done a psych course, and couldn't work out why for the life of her she'd signed up for this one!

Taking a deep breath, she entered the room. Her eyes landed on the teacher and she recognized the man instantly and part of her wanted to pivot on her heel and walk back out of the room. With an internal shake of her head, she gave him a respectful bow of her head - as was Japanese custom - and headed toward one of the desks. She noticed a pile of exercise books on one of the tables and picked one up on the way past.

Sitting in one of the front tables, she went to setting her desk up as religiously as she did in every other class; Pencil case in the top left corner, glasses case in the top right. Pens and writing pencil lined perfectly in the top middle of the desk and her working book in the direct middle. Slipping her glasses on her face she looked up at the board. Opening the exercise book, she left the first page blank and turned to the second page where she wrote out the teacher's name, what the class was and some other relevant information about psychology. She then turned to the next page and headed it Dreams Under this she copied out the definition and then sat there. Capping the pen, she tapped it on the page as she wondered what to write. She didn't dream. On the nights when sleep managed to envelope her, she had nightmares of her past, and she was certain that the man wouldn't want her to write about them.

[lottii]

Callum made his way down the hallway. Psychology was the class he was slightly apprehensive about. So far, his other classes had all been ones where he came out of his shell and felt confident, or ones which he knew he wasn't so good at but at least was secure in that knowledge. He had done a little Psychology before, and enjoyed it, which was what persuaded him to sign up. Dressed simply in black jeans and the same color short sleeve shirt, he entered the room quietly.

Noting a teacher, he greeted him simply, a slight flush spreading over his cheeks already. "Sir, my name is Callum Razamuth", his head down. Grabbing a book he made his way to a desk a little way away from Cara. Settling into a seat, he retrieved the biro that was always lurking at the bottom of his bag - which was black and bore the HIM heartogram. Callum wrote his name on the front of the book, along with the class and teacher. Opening the book, he titled the page 'Dreams' and then started to write...

'My Dream. The dream I had yesterday was a repetitive dream which I have on average once or twice a week. I am riding one of my horses - always Champagne - and am at a competition. During my dream I see in great detail as we compete in the first two phases of Eventing - Dressage and Cross Country - and it is done perfectly. Literally it is the best performance ever and everyone is clapping and assuring me that I will win, that we will win. But as I enter the show-jumping ring, I feel sick and dizzy from the pressure of everyone expecting me to win. I cannot concentrate and as we approach the first jump, Champagne takes off badly because I didn't place him at the jump correctly, and I start to fall. In the dream, I am losing consciousness as I fall, and as it all goes black, I wake up.'

Callum finished writing, unsure of whether he should put his hand up and say so. Instead he settled for putting his pen down gently, and trying to catch the teacher's eye.

[Ω-Admin-Cara-Ω]

Cara silently watched as a boy, whom she recognized from a few of her other classes, entered the room greeted Mr Evans and found himself a seat before getting to work. She tapped the capped pen against her book another couple of times, knowing that she was going to draw unwanted attention from the man at the front of the room if she didn’t start writing soon. She already kept a journal of her night-visions, except it wasn't written in English. Uncapping the blue pen again she wrote:

All men dream, but not all equally. Those who dream by night, in the dusty recesses of their mind, wake to find it was all vanity. But dreamers of the day are dangerous, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes and make things happen.
T.E. Lawrence (Lawrence of Arabia)

Still buying herself time, she capped the blue pen and placed it alongside the others before she picked up the black pen and removed the cap off that one. She drew a breath in through her nose, filling her lungs, and then released it slowly through her mouth - to the count of five - and finally put pen to paper, writing in her neat precise handwriting, taking care to keep her writing in the one language, yes, English.

She lay on a flat foam slat – it may as well have been a sheet on the floor for the comfort it offered or the chill it kept off the floor - in a darkened room. Her eyes watched the shadows as they danced across the ceiling, somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that it was Christmas eve not that it gave her any reason to feel joy or happiness – to her it was just another day where she would work in the house owned by the man who lived here.

Pushing back the sparse sheet she had covering her frail body, she stood up. Creeping over to the door, she placed her hand on the knob and soundlessly turned it and exited the room.

Next she found herself inside the stall in the backyard, Kenny Rodger’s song: The Gambler, was playing in the background. This box was no more than a garden shed and the smell of stale urine and horse manure made her stomach clench, but there was nothing in there for her to empty so she just folded herself over the cramp and made her way over to the dusty grey Connemara mare.

She sat low on the mare’s back, she leaned slightly forward as she gave the animal her head, begging her to go faster and faster, to run away from everything behind them. From not too far behind, she could hear the hooves of another horse, she leaned low against the mare’s neck as she urged her to go faster still, there was still a chance of out running their follower. “Go, Pixie, go!” She begged as the mare lowered her head and stretched out her pace even more as they sped along the forest floor.

There was a corner ahead of them, it was too sharp for the mare to take it at the speed they were going. Pixie tried to keep her balance as they took the corner, but all too quickly the mare vanished out from under her and she was sliding through the undergrowth of the forest. “No!” She cried as she finally came to a stop against a tree. Leaping to her feet, she started running through the forest as fast as her legs could take her, ignoring the pain in her leg every time she placed her right foot on the ground. She had to keep moving.

Pausing for a moment, she leaned against a tree as she listened to the forest around her. She tipped her head to the side, she could still hear the steady beat of a horses hooves, she could no longer work out where they were coming from though. While she had been on the back of her horse, she knew that the other horse and rider had been behind her, but now, they could be anywhere. Dropping her shoulder, the bow resting there slid down to her hand and she pulled an arrow from the quiver that sat at her waist. Knocking the arrow, she surveyed the area again.

“I’ve got you now!”

She spun around at the sound of the hard voice, and gasped when the horse reared up and clipped her with its front hoof, causing her to lose her hold on the string of the bow. “No!” She screamed as she fell backwards as the man swung his leg over the black stallion’s back and his boots thudded as he landed on the ground.

The young teen struggled to pull herself out of the memory and it was only when she jumped at the sound of a snapping pen that she came back to the here and now and realized that the pen in her hand was now broken in two, ink staining her hand.

She knew who the mare in her dream had been, Pixie Dust was a pony owned by one of her foster fathers. She bit her lip as she pulled a tissue out of her satchel and wrapped the pen in it before placing it on the desk and fishing inside the pencil case for a matching black pen, she remembered the little dusty grey mare with a shiver. The man had treated the mare as badly as he had treated her. The only difference was that he had to feed the girl and he didn’t… She shook her head again she banish anymore of the memory from fighting to the surface. The poor pony had been kept in a dark box that was no better than a garden shed, with nothing to sleep on but the hard concrete floor. Her feed was just as good as her prison, nothing more than enough to feed a rabbit.

Cara had been more worried about the mare’s wellbeing than she was her own. So, one day (that Christmas eve so many years ago) she decided to set the mare free. Sneaking out in the middle of the night, she had mounted the mare and rode her into the forest behind the house. The night had been so peacefully quiet, it wasn’t long though before the sound of beating hooves could be heard behind them…

She drew in a deep breath as she came out of her memory again before it had the change to entangle her once more. He had followed her! She shivered uncontrollably. She had forgotten how she had turned back up in the house. As clear as though it had only happened yesterday, she could still hear the explosion as the gun was fired, the horrible screaming that had followed the bang, then, nothing.

She picked up the blue pen and wrote down the bottom of the page: I’m sorry Pixie Dust.

[Onzyy]

*

[/b][/size] IF THERE[/size][/color]'[/font]S ANYTHING TO SAY[/size][/color],[/font]
^{- - - - - - - - if there's anything to do. if there's any other way. i will do anything for you. - -}[/i][/size][/font][/size][/center]

Darren walked towards the class that most likely held the most apprehension for him apart from reading aid. The note in his hand already marked him apart from the rest of the school. In it it explained everything that was going on with him. How he went into a fantasy world when he heard music. How each letter and number was different, a different colour that is. He reached the class, and entered. The teacher was a male, and sat at the desk. His looked friendly and inviting, and Darren felt somewhat better. He laid the letter in front of the man, and introduced himself. ”Darren Laramie, sir,”

[/color] he said.
The note would read:

To whom it may concern:

Please excuse my son Darren from any lack of attention. He has a neurological disorder called Synesthia, which basically means that his letters and numbers are a different colours. He also 'sees' music, so it would be better if he stayed out of the musical side of things, as he ends up going to a fantasy world and he doesn't realise it. Writing can be somewhat frustrating for him.

Yours Sincerely,
Scott Michaels

He took a seat, and read the instruction on the board. Darren nearly groaned aloud, but swallowed his pride. Writing was staying and he just had to get over it. He thought about his previous night's dream. It had involved his filly, Loralie and a lot of darkness. He took out some paper and a pen, then started to write.

He was asleep, and woke up in the snow. There was no cold, just the soft flakes of the powder that fell from the sky. He was fully clothed, and when he happened to glance into the sky. There was no moon or stars, just black light. The area wasn't familiar to him. It was just hills, and everything was illuminated by a single street lamp. There was an Appaloosa next to him, and he recoginsed her as Standing Ovation, his yearling filly.

Soon, he heard Fur Elise playing, and he waited for the colour to come. There was none, but what came was small imps and pixies. He tried to run, but was stuck in some sort of mud. They little creatures laughed and danced around him and Claps. The filly stared at the little creatures. He tried to shout, but no voice escaped him. Then he saw her. Lory, and as he saw her she became an angel to save him.Behind her was Scott, Sarah and the twins. They were each bathed in a soft golden light and they were all beckoning him to come, but tried to tell them that he can't. Lory said he can, and as soon as he moved he was falling in a black hole.

Even when he was writing this, it had scared him. Darren didn't know what it mean't but it couldn't be good. He shivered slightly and allowed himself a mental grimace.

”This is your character speaking.”[/color]
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NOTES: Complete
TAGGED: Psychology Class
OUTFIT: wearing clothes? naturally
CREDIT TO: FOREVER COURTNEY! @ CAUTION.
MUSE FROM:The Canadian Tenors[/blockquote][/size][/font]