I go to Autumn Walk High School for Unused Ideas. Some students there are cartoons, others animations and sometimes mere two dimensional doodles. Something you might want to know is that our whole school is upside down. Meaning that we walk in through what should be the school's bell tower. When going through the halls, students walk on the ceilings. The floor is the ceiling and the ceiling is the floor. I've heard the Creator threw it in the bin the wrong way around. I swear this school is a safety hazard or something.
My first few days of school, Viol had to drag me in kicking because I was too afraid to walk in. I'm over it by now, but if a cartoon sneezes and this place comes tumbling down, somebody owes me fifty bucks.
The rest of the cartoons are not in the most upbeat of moods, either. The gloomy faces and rain clouds looming above some of the students heads emphasize their emotions. I walk to math and see Viol in an empty room. She's working as hard as ever and of course, is 10 minutes early.
"Morning, Eim." She says, not bothering to look up. I pull up a chair and sit opposite of her, slamming my face into her desk.
"Uhhhggggggggg." I heave.
"You ready for the test?" Viol asks, still writing down formulas onto her paper.
"Oh come on, it's just basic formulas."
"But I have to remember them." I lift my head up and stare at her square in the face, giving her my best death stare. "And you know how good I am at remembering stuff."
She finally looks up from her work and stares at me. Her blue and violet eyes meet mine, the calmness in her eyes makes my face soften up unconsciously.
"Aw, Eim," she says, pinching my cheek. "You're too cute to look mad." She laughs as I slam my head back down on the desk.
Cartoons start to pile in, and I take my seat above Viol, my hair falling down to meet hers and getting damp from the small waves cresting on her head. Along with the normal seats on the ceiling, we as a school all have some seats on the floor to accommodate more kids. It certainly helps me focus.
"Do you need shampoo with that too?" Viol asks jokingly, looking up at my dripping hair.
"Ha. Ha." I fake laugh, fighting to keep a straight face.
The hour-long math test definitely doesn't boost my mood but I'm more hopeful that my next class will, Animation 101, where we learn how to make our own cartoons.
As I walk into the classroom, I see Mr. Wilson pouring himself a cup of tea. His feet are up on the table as he leans back in his old leather armchair. Mr. Wilson is... how can I put it... he tries to be a posh cowboy. He acts like he's from the 20s, but also uses words like "y'all" or "howdy" and he wears spurs on his leather shoes. Who even does that? Sometimes I want to grab a bucket and wash the grease out of his slicked back hair; it's so reflective that it's blinding.
Unfortunately, Mr. Wilson loves to go off topic, and he says stuff like, "Oh naive children, y'all should know everything in this world is magic except for the magician. Enjoy your sweet little years where the magic still resides in you young whippersnappers, as one day the magic will be taken away from you. Enjoy your days left as the innocent sweet creatures that y'all currently are before you are taken into this horrid world of war and crime."
I have never seen anyone spiral so quickly.
As I'm trying to find a seat someone taps me on the shoulder, startling me.
"Hey Eim, are you alright?"
"Oh, hey Cassie!"
Cassiopeia. One of the few sane people at our school. Always calm, always quiet, keeps to herself. She's my type of person. She's tall and has ram horns with long, blue-streaked brunette hair.
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Not a Graphic NovelFantasy
Not a Graphic Novel is a story about cartoons that have been abandoned by their creator and live in their own world in a trash can. The story takes place when their creator begins to take the abandoned ideas and change them, creating chaos in their...