I leaned back against my chair, stretching my arms upwards and yawning. Class had not started yet, since Mr. Chrome got himself in trouble in the office, like usual. I don't know why. One time he spent over forty minutes away from class, and, because our school was so small that it can very well be nonexistent, we don't have another teacher to substitute for him. Unfortunately, whenever this happens, we alternate teaching the class. Today wasn't my turn, so at least I can spend some time thinking about other things without having to deal with twenty-three idiots annoying me while I attempt to nail some knowledge into their ignorant, neglecting brains. He was out again for some untold reason (probably got in trouble again with the headmaster), and a group of boys were arguing about whose turn it was to teach the class.
I stared at my left, out of the gigantic glass window. The school grounds were all covered in snow, and I could not see a single soul out there. Not even on the street. During these long months of winter, people usually just retreat into their homes since they seem to hate the cold so much. Same with the kids at my school.
I turned my head to my right, briefly glancing at the girl next to me. Her back was towards me, and she was sitting sideways in her chair, chatting vibrantly about who-knows-what to a group of people in the next row. Probably something about how cold it is. They keep complaining about the cold, every single day. I don't really understand what's wrong with them. They can become so distracted with little things like that. Everyone at the school is like that. So inattentive. So flippant. Neglecting. Unaware.
That's why it was so easy for me to steal... what did that guy say?
Various items of clothing which would probably fill up a whole closet, over 500 trading cards, 4 backpacks, over 150 books, and a car
I started moving all those extra belongings from my room to the basement, since it was getting too crowded, and I hate it when my room gets full of stuff that I don't really need.
Anyway, all those stolen items were moved down to the basement. I don't really use any of them. Not even the clothes, or the backpacks. The car? It's in the garage. My parents know about it, and they still think I picked it up from some junkyard that doesn't even actually exist anywhere nearby.
I didn't steal that much. Well, it wasn't like I had any evil intent. I was just bored of not having anything interesting happen in my class. And now I'm bored of stealing things, since it just became so easy to sneak out five to seven books out of the library at one time that I don't really find any enjoyment in it anymore.
Okay, you know what? Maybe I would be considered a thief. Maybe. Because, if my friends - sorry, my classmates - found out what I did in the past year, they would probably say that I was creepy, and they would start avoiding me everywhere at school. Which is not convenient, speaking from personal experience.
Just as one of the boys volunteered to teach and rose from his desk to walk towards the front of the classroom, the door opened and in marched Mr. Chrome, looking just as unfazed and carefree as usual. He stood at the front of the class, facing the whiteboard, and, uncapping the black marker, he began to teach.
"Good morning, everyone," he started, "Again, just like all the other days, I apologize for being late again. Uhm.. let's just cut to the lesson for today, shall we?"
But, on the other hand, what did that guy say? It was so early in the morning, so I don't remember all the details, but it involves money. I'm getting paid for stealing? That really made me excited. If I can make some money by doing what I do best, then that would probably give me the most happiness and satisfaction as of right now.
I took out my notebook, as well as my favorite blue pen. I fixed my position on the chair, and began writing.
"Timothy," Mr. Chrome called out, pointing towards somewhere in the back corner of the room, "I want you to answer this question..."
I never paid attention in class. I never thought that I would need to, anyways. And as for my notebook, it's not for taking notes. It's my journal.
As Timothy started to give Mr. Chrome the correct answer, I clicked my pen, and began writing.
Why don't I just steal people's money? Because it doesn't feel rewarding. I feel guilty for just taking money that isn't mine. However, if I steal something else with no set monetary value, and I get paid for doing so, then that's a completely different scenario.
It's still wrong?
Hm. I've thought about this argument for quite a while. But, after about a few seconds of thinking, I achieved my answer.
And here it is:
I'm an existentialist. I don't care. I can do whatever I want to do.
I can steal if I want to.
I can do anything. And no one will be able to stop me.
I have freedom, therefore I am free.