Chapter 32 Chloe vs Zombies

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Lucy wasn't always the most sentimental person however after her father's passing, she found herself growing to be. When the majority of her homeroom class brought up Miss Bustier's birthday and how they all wanted to get her a gift, Lucy couldn't help but want to be a part of it. The tall ginger teacher was a beacon of kindness. Someone who you could tell took their job and the care of their students very seriously. Miss Bustier wanted nothing more than for her children to feel safe and accepted in her classroom, showing them love and structure the best way she could.

"Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives." Bustier pointed to a projection of the solar system. "The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor, and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there-on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam. The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves. The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand. It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known."

Deciding on a gift for the woman who Lucy could almost guarantee was everyone's favorite teacher had proven to be more difficult than anticipated. She had decided on giving her a painting. Simple yet homemade, therefore meaningful. Lucy entered the school with a medium-sized, plain white box. Wrapping presents was never a skill Lucy seemed to be able to master, and instead topped it with a big pretty purple bow. As she made her way to her locker she looked around at all the gifts in her peer's hands and smiled. Everyone had come with such unique and personal ideas. A tap on her shoulder, grabbed Lucy's attention as she was brought face to face with Adrien.

"Good morning Lucy." He greeted politely.

"Mornin' Adrien."

"Is that a present for Miss Bustier?" He asked, pointing to the box in Lucy's arms.

"As a matter of fact, it is." She answers bringing the box to her chest.

"Well come on, give us a look!" Adrien said as some more classmates came closer to see. Lucy gave a playful eye roll and opened the box. Inside was a heart-shaped piece of wood that had been covered in pour paint and finished with epoxy. The lovely blues and purples swirled together and the shiny coating made a glass-like effect. Murmurs of admiration filled Lucy's ears and a slight tint of pink covered her cheeks.

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