The Revolutionists'

(1)Migraine

Ryan's POV

Everything was black. I saw nothing- I heard nothing. Suddenly a sharp sting shot through my head. It dug into my scalp, and making me grimace in discomfort. My head seemed to be radiating with pain. It was unbearable. I didn't know what had happened. I didn't know why I was here. All I knew was my head hurt like nothing I had felt before.

It was like my instincts and nerves had shut down, and the only thing I could think about was my relentless headache.

It was non-stop.

I suddenly found the nerve(pun intended) to open my eyes, and light peaked through the darkness.

I remembered where I was, and who I was. I was Ryan Mcnally. I was laying face-down on my desk, sleeping in the middle of 5th period, Social Studies 9. I quickly sat up, and straightened my notes(that were barely filled I may add) in front of me. I looked around, and sighed in relief when I saw no one noticed.

In fact, everybody had the same problem with staying awake. I looked at the teacher and focused on him, when my head started to pound. I immediately remembered my headache. My thoughts were filled with colorful vocabulary. I quickly raised my hand. "Yes Ryan?" The teacher asked, thinking I knew the answer to the question he had asked. Actually, I had no idea what the question was. "Uh, yeah. Can I go to the bathroom?" I asked awkwardly. The teacher frowned. "Sure," he answered, disappointed.

Mr. Mikes was his name. He was a tall fellow, with short, pale blonde hair, with spikes that shot up randomly, all over his head. He had striking blue eyes, and wore his usual outfit, which was a plaid shirt, skinny jeans, and a tie(with no specific description).

Mr. Mikes wasn't my least favorite teacher, but he definitely wasn't the top 10. He was the kind of teacher who didn't care what the students thought of him. The kids who tended to get better grades, usually liked him more than the kids who's grades constantly dropped. The majority of teachers liked him too, mostly because of his particular teaching strategies, and theories. Plus, on unusual days he would be pretty slack, and lay off everybody, just letting them chill, or do their work quietly/with a partner.

I'm not surprised why he would be frustrated. No matter how many times he told the class, "You can relax, but I want you to pay attention too. Then you can branch out and do the worksheet alone," nobody paid attention. Surprise, surprise.

He said it so many times, he should just, write it on the board, and point to it when he wanted to announce his guidelines.

Still, half the class was taken up by people wanting to go to the bathroom, or get a drink.

I wasn't that kid. I didn't really pay attention, but I didn't purposely annoy him. I usually just doodled on my notebook, and did the assignment when he told us to.

But nonetheless, I actually needed to go. I needed to find a cure for these headaches. Maybe I'm dehydrated.

I quickly got up and walked out of the room, making sure not to reveal my pain. I didn't want anyone sending me to the nurse. I was probably just tired from staying up too late every night.

Everybody was oblivious. Mr. Mikes wasn't paying attention, and the kids could care less.

Once I was in the hall, I quickened my pace, and headed to the nearest boys' bathroom. I walked quickly (fast, but not enough to be chastised by one the elementary teachers) down the first flight of stairs, the second, and the third, then across the hall, until I was right in front of the bathroom door. It loomed over me, as if going in was the biggest mistake. But I pushed open the door anyway.