[h1][center]Small City Blues #3.[/center][/h1]
Hassan whirred across warm concrete, his bike's tires rolled and roared in the wind accompanied by the rattling of the vehicle's cheap chain. With a backpack's straps hugging his thin shoulders, Hassan raced to meet the 7:55 deadline for students' arrival for homeroom. In the distance, he could hear the bell ring; he wasn't too far away! It was only when he looked at his wristwatch he was privy to the bitter reality--it was 8:30. Good thing his mother left for work at 6:00 a.m. and his sister caught the 7:00 a.m. bus. He pulled up to the front of the school and threw his bike atop pavement; hustling, he knew he wouldn't be able to enter the school at the front, and so he was relegated to more unsavory methods.

As Hassan saw it, there were two options: he either broke into the school or he suffered the wrath of his mother. It was all so simple, but [i]he[/i] made it all so complex,

[color=yellow]"Brace yourself."[/color] Huh? That voice sounded too familiar. Hassan had no time to wade his confusion, he felt a subtle pressure build up in his stomach and his limbs froze. Under a sway not his own, Hassan suddenly found himself inside of the men's bathroom--before he could make sense of what had just happened, he was bent over the sink and freeing himself of yesterday's lasagna.

[color=yellow]"It will pass. You are late."[/color]
"Who are you?" Hassan demanded.
[color=yellow]"Family."[/color]

Hassan was definitely high. He had to be, right? There was no logical explanation for any of this; he felt as weird as he did when he had the visions in his sleep, but those were dreams--those were supposed to be incredible. Madness and sanity opposed, but Hassan didn't know which one he felt at this moment. He wiped leftover lasagna from his mouth with his forearm and ran the same appendage beneath some cold water before he dried off. The bell for second period rang, time to get to science.

His science teacher, a balding man in his middle thirties, spoke warm to his amassing group of students; most of whom displayed little interest in the class. The teacher's name was German, something Hassan never bothered to pronounce; Kleinschmidt? Perhaps. A laze, Hassan hated school, and the sense in him told him each and every one of his peers did as well. The teacher blathered about sodium and carbon and thermodynamics. It all went through one ear and out of the other. A rapping beat against Hassan's head; Pantheon spoke to him again.

[color=yellow]"Pay attention. You need this for your test."[/color] Oh, so this thing inside his head was his parent now, too? Hassan would show him/it/her otherwise!

"Shut up!"
"Mr. Amim?" Kleinschmidt posited.
[color=yellow]"No."[/color] Pantheon retorted.
"YES!" Hassan shouted back with visceral charge.
"No more interruptions, Mr. Amim--thank you." Kleinschmidt warned. All of his classmates gawked, some with glee and others with genuine intrigue. Then there was the girl, Akila. Her puffy, jet black curls rested high atop her head. Her skin dark and deep as coal and wine-smooth. All Hassan felt now was embarassment. There was that twinkle of puppy love (which was entirely unreciprocated) which beat against his veins; they all stared in unison, but even in the crowd the only set of eyes he noticed were hers. Quick! He had to do something!

Lasagna [i]still[/i] looked better going down than coming back up. Disparaged exclamations ricocheted throughout the room; "ew", "gross", "idiot!" All deserved--harsh, but deserved. Again, Pantheon's voice rang in Hassan's head,

[color=yellow]"You are welcome. Leave while you can, we have much to discuss."[/color] Hassan scurried up and hurried out of the room. Once in the hallway, he had no clue where to go or how in creation he was going to salvage his reputation and ask Akila to prom--let alone deal with this talking man in his skull.