Ratings: T
Category(ies): General
Warning(s): Cussing
Status: One-shot, complete
Summary: Photography: the new bane of Metis' existence.
Notes: Written entirely in one day, starting from 7:45 AM, sporadically throughout the day until after school and then from 4:15 PM to 10:10 PM. Petey help me from ever trying this kind of stunt again, lest my brains melt from exhaustion, burnt-out creativity, and being overwhelmed from writing about such amazing characters.
I hate admitting just how many liberties I took with this, but after spinning the wheel-o-blame-and-excuses I landed on claim sheer ignorance on my part. Most of the qualities about the high school and its faculty I took from my own exaggerated experiences, along with the traits of the park. Yes, where I live we have all this weird stuff. Fear. Well, except for the TEAM thing - that's my own made up example of pure, unadulterated torture.
Thanks goes out to my beta reader, Cassandra Cassidy, for taking the time out of her summer vacation to look over this, to the band Metric whose 'Combat Baby' song I listened to the entire time I wrote this, and last, but not least, Nuu for creating Honeydew Syndrome, starting up this wonderful fic contest, and answering all of my endless questions. LOVE AND KISSES!
Disclaimer: I don't own Honeydew Syndrome; wish I did like everybody else. They should put Honeydew Syndrome in stock, then I'd buy it all!
~+~+~+~+~
The songbirds were singing, the daises were in bloom, and the sun was shining at an excess of seventy-degrees. In the distance, children were having their games of innocent merriment too, while happy couples strolled through the open fields hand-in-hand.
All in all, it was so wonderful Metis could've puked rainbows.
"Charles, kindly refresh my memory. Why are we here at the park surrounded by annoying organic matter and harmful UV rays?"
His friend, who appeared more occupied with a formation of sticks on their path than with him, absently replied, "Because we need at least twenty-four stock photos for our final project in Photography."
"And why did we take Photography?"
"Well, I joined due to its refining nature in appreciation for one's surroundings and its immortalizing qualities. As for you," he paused, taking a picture of someone's red kite caught in the trees above, "I think it was due to the fact that you had a credit requirement to meet, and since you waited until the last minute, this was the only class left open to you."
For a moment, the dark-haired boy seriously considered investing in a new best friend, one that didn't go around reminding him of how utterly desperate he had been in times of hardship and rushing through high school scheduling.
Stupid Photography; why did it have to be the last thing open? As he plopped down on the nearest bench, he observed his companion shooting off snapshots of the most inane and uninteresting things. Yeeeah…no wonder no one took up the class. Maybe he should have begged on his hands and knees to be let into Jewelry Making I. At least then he could have made a simply fabulous necklace to choke himself with.
"Aren't you going to take any?" Charles suddenly asked. "You did bring a camera with you, right? That would be a helpful start."
"Sure, sure. Right here," Metis lifted his right hand, showing off the beat-up digital camera strapped to his wrist. It had yet to be turned on, though. There hadn't been a thing worth snapping at so far, and at the rate things were going, the first letter in 'fucking a' was bound to be on his upcoming grade report.
"Then what are your three assigned subjects?"
Sighing, Metis dug into his jeans pocket, producing a crumpled piece of paper that might have at one time resembled the guidelines to a certain assignment, but now appeared to be giant spitball material. Blowing off some wayward lint, he fumbled with the edges until at last it unfurled to reveal travel-worn text.
"Let's see…eight black, eight metal, and eight sports."
"Not too shabby. I got stuck with eight red, eight plastic, and eight cooking, myself. That last one I already did at home," Charles commented, sitting directly next to him. "There's enough play equipment around for mine, and word is our high school football team is practicing here; today's the annual TEAM. That should get you enough stocks for the sports theme."
TEAM: Training Everyone And More. It was basically their local coach's idea of a bonding experience between teammates so that, come game time, all the players could interact and participate as one unit. However, most everyone has since re-dubbed it, 'To End All Mankind,' due to their instructor being a sadist (big surprise, right?) and putting the entire team through the nine circles of hell. Said circles consist of running, rope climbing, drilling, tire hopping, sprints, tug-of-war, throwing practice, repelling, and, of all things, jump roping.
Slumping down and stuffing his hands into his pockets, Metis was thankful for having never lost his sanity and tried out for such things as football. Just the thought of having to do all that work made him feel sympathy pains for the poor bastards who did; the majority of them probably wouldn't last with their organs and current joints intact by the time they made it to twenty-four.
Speaking of twenty-four, he still had those photos to get. At least with that TEAM thing going on, he'd be a pretty pathetic human being if he couldn't manage to find at least one instance for a good picture.
"They're going to be around all day, right?"
That would make sense, since it was Saturday, and knowing their coach, the players would be around until it wasn't legal to detain them anymore. That would most likely be around sunset when the park closed.
So, already knowing the answer, he declared, "I'll get the other shit out of the way first. It can't be too hard to find something black and metallic littering this place."
Famous last words, those.
~+~+~+~+~
At one time, Metis didn't believe there was a god. Higher beings didn't let so many horribly bad things happen to reasonably good people. Sure, he's had his moments, but they shouldn't be enough to warrant sending his life spiraling into a world of chaos.
But he has long since changed his mind. There just had to be someone up there looking down on him, mucking up his life on purpose as some form of free entertainment. 'Oh look Michael, there goes Metis! I think today I'll strike him down with lightning, since it sure beats watching cable,' sort of thing. It's the only real explanation as to how things keep targeting him so inconveniently.
On the plus side, at least Charles had gotten a few laughs out of it, except for when a teenage punk tried to tread Metis' face in with his new set of eighteen-inch wheels. Hopefully the guy would be out of the hospital within a week; Charles had gone easy on him compared to some of the previous individuals who had attempted to take his cynical friend out in a similar fashion.
"It's getting late, May; nearly seven forty-five. What's left?"
At Charles' question, he whipped out the torn and dirtied version of a spitball he'd possessed earlier, his eyes having to squint at his smeared pencil markings and worn out type to decipher it.
"With that capture of a crow stealing a ham sandwich, I've completed my black collection. I already had the metal one once I took the picture of that asshole's license plate number, and thanks to those little runts on the volleyball court I got a couple of reasonable shots, sooo…I guess I've got no other choice but to get to work on those final sports ones. How about you?"
Grinning, his friend waved his camera around.
"Done, done and done."
"I loathe you with all my being," Metis didn't hesitate to deadpan. The lighter-haired gentleman merely laughed and gave his shoulder a loving pat, obviously unable to take such words to heart. Charles obviously wasn't human, either.
"Glad to hear it, buddy. Now, how about you hunt down those pigskin-addicts while I get us something to eat before everything closes? My treat."
Metis deigned not to comment, save for a huff resembling an acknowledging grunt, before walking off. It was getting to be past dinnertime and there weren't a whole lot of people around anymore, which made his job that much easier. Sounds of laborious work and yells left quite the trail for him to follow. He was surprised with how far back the football team was; in a roundabout way, he supposed it made a lick of sense: the bigger meadows and fields were in the middle, which made the most room for their equipment.
When he got to the edge of the clearing they had occupied, he only spotted about a handful of individuals, the majority of them seemingly unconscious or getting ready to leave. Cursing his misfortune, he whipped his head this way and that, trying to pick up on anyone left actually participating in the athletics.
"Alright boys - and, er, girl - nice job today! Those who have finished the twenty passes required for the tossing practice can scram, but those who haven't can't leave until they do. GOT ALL THAT?!"
By god, did his camera lens just crack from that bellow? Note to self: if ever forced into gym class, bring earplugs.
"Come on, Josh, we're almost done," another voice called from his right, this one thankfully non-damaging to his delicate equipment.
Turning, Metis spotted a group of four - all buff, typical jocks - in what would be considered a blob to most, but which had most likely been intended to be some kind of basic shape, like a square or circle. He only recognized two by name since they, unfortunately, shared a graduating class, while the other two looked to be too young and were obviously underclassmen. There was a tall, brown-haired guy whose name had long since been forgotten and replaced with his jersey number, and the other was none other than Josh. Good ol', ladies' man, jerk-off Josh.
Narrowing his eyes, Metis was tempted to leave; he would have, had the camera heavily laden in his hands not been a cold reminder to his truer mission. He only needed two more pictures to go home, two more pictures to finish his damn project, two more pictures to freedom. Like hell he was letting Josh - or any of the other reincarnations of Satan - get in the way of that.
Lifting up the camera, he took a quick shot of the climbing wall, since it was the only thing remaining after their workout, and then tilted it down closer to take the final shot. As the sun dipped down behind the line of trees, he pushed down on the button, a satisfying click telling him that he was done. About damn time.
~+~+~+~+~
Metis didn't know how many times he'd pondered the question, but he knew that until he received a suitable answer, he would forever ask it: Why couldn't our desks be more comfortable? It was a legitimate question, considering that his head was flat against his stacked books, the surface of his desk far too low to meet his necessary height requirements. This left him with a stiff neck and a terrible time trying to catch a couple of extra Z's in his now-finished Photography class as he tried to rest.
Both he and Charles had turned in their portfolios on time, and since the teacher hadn't planned for anything else, they basically just had to show up, sit there, and look pretty. Not too bad a deal, all considering.
SLAP!
"GAH!"
Sitting up straight and narrowly tipping over his pathetic excuse for a seat, his hands grasped the corners of it in a white-knuckled grip. Eyes darting around, they eventually came to land on his Photography teacher, who was staring down at him from behind light-tinted glasses. Were he any less of a man, he would have surely required a new change of pants from the sour expression she was wearing.
Oh god what have I done? Oh god what have I done? OhgodwhathaveIdone? Quickly checking over his previous actions, nothing immediately stood out as Dangerous Material, much less worthy of earning him a deadly glance from the head of the Photography department. Maybe she was just on a witch-hunt…? Erg. No more comforting than anything else, that was for sure.
"Metis, I have some very important issues to discuss with you," her lilting, almost too lilting, voice spoke down at him. She approached him with an air similar to what he assumed a carnivorous animal would and towered over him to the point that he was tilting his head back at a ninety-degree angle.
"Yes…?"
Opening the folder she'd initially slammed down on his desk, she skimmed through the photos therein with war-painted, manicured nails until she came to one somewhere in the middle. Picking it up like a diseased pelt between thumb and forefinger, she lifted it up to a distance 1/8th of an inch from his face, his eyes forced to cross to take the thing in.
"This…this photo…is simply breathtaking!" she spontaneously gushed, startling him once more with her tone, and leaned down to point to the guy showcased in it with her opposite pointer.
It was the last one he'd taken, the one with Josh in it. It was a bust shot with him against the trees; the tender blue coloration the sun had created as a backdrop due to its descent behind the horizon gave an almost ethereal effect to the blond. Never mind that all the sweat he'd accumulated from the torture that was athletic training had caused a glowing effect on his skin, or that his eyes, which were looking at the camera at an exaggerated bend, just happened to pop out due to the deep contrast of the shadows spawned by the surrounding forest.
"When I saw this, I just knew you had potential. I highly recommend you take up my advanced course in photography. With work like this, you'll most certainly get another A," she continued, adding in, "And do you know the name of your model? If so, you must tell me his name! Is he available?"
Externally, his lips pulled back in the widest grin he could manage, the whites of his teeth sparkling with the effort it took him to hold back a scream and instead release some kind of polite answer. Inside with his thoughts, however, was a totally different story. A couple expletives here, several death wishes there, disappointment in knowing that he'd passed this class thanks to some motherfucking hotshot, and deep, deep, deep down in the depths of his subconscious, which he'd stopped delving into a long time ago…a thought along the lines of 'beautiful' was born.
~+Fin+~