The stench of the young. The moving classroom was filled with it. The surrounding crowd were the producers of said stench. Another name for them would be teenagers. Hormone filled, sex craving teenagers that couldn’t give a single damn what anybody had thought of any of them. He smelt it as he walked into the larger than life van and traded money for a piece of silky paper stating that he was allowed on this particular van at this moment in time. This was routine. He sat down on the seat he claimed as his own, his throne, some might call it. During the process, the man jerked slightly to the left as the bus started gaining momentum. It had begun. Towards the rear end of the bus, there was a man; a tall, slender and sopisticated looking man. What he was doing there was not known to anyone. His looks had made the impression that this tall man was going to work, possibly as an office job. His hairy face and lousy posture could suggest that he did not like the particular job that he held. Surrounding him were the teenagers. What they were doing did not impress the tall man. This had included screaming into his ear holes any names that they had thought of that particular day and spraying their latest up to date ‘smell good powder’ (which clearly does not work) around him. This had not impressed the tall man. The expression upon his face had given the impression that he was bound upon this moving two-story room against his own will. The sex-craving teenagers sensed this upon themselves and decided to move away from the tall man. This was an ultimate success to the tall man whose face was filled with delight. He could now gaze into eternity without any bother. Above this tall man were another floor of the teenagers. An explosion of sound coming from up above shocked the surrounding crowd. This particular sound was the beat of the latest chart-topping single by ‘YowWatM8ty’, the idol to some and born-idle to others. This pounding bass and ear-piercing guitar riffs shook through the hearts of anyone in the near vicinity. Another group of hormone-filled teenagers where moving their bodies in an alien-like routine suggesting that they thought their peers were their partners for all eternity, though the relationship would end period two the same day. This was known as twerking. The expression of a scarecrow was bounded upon each and every face within the twenty metre radius. The seats in which this act of ‘twerking’ took place looked like they needed a thorough wash after what they had witnessed that day upon many others. Throughout all this mania the moving classroom stuck to its duty of moving its inhabitants to the place of education (where no education had actually taken place for the past few decades.)
On the upper level of the bus, towards the front end, a group of students (a typical breed of the teenage species) were gazing into their exercise books to plan ahead for their next test on what they have learned over the past few years. This particular test was a Controlled Assessment in English Language in which they had to write as creatively as they could in the time limit of an hour. This was not popular among students, even most teenagers, as the group were forced to close all communication channels, including cellular devices in which they shared digitalised sticky notes with a symbol before them and ChatSnaps in which they share self-destructing images. One of the more fulfilled looking students was gazing into his book of wisdom as he attempted to insert the words on one page of the book into another page in the book. This tedious method was known as drafting. While this was taking place, another student, who’s face looked determined to ‘ace’ the assessment had her back against the moving wall as she fell into a deep sleep after staying up the night before doing what was not technically possible to most of the other teenagers surrounding her. Her clothes, which were moving along the wall with her, looked as tattered as a tea stain on a piece paper as she struggled to wake from her slumber and failed to utter a sound from her hole of words. The competition amongst the student race had put all affected into a state of coma which cannot be mistaken. The bagged eyes and ruffled hair had suggested that they had spent the entire night trying to memorise what they had done in the not-so far past. The books, which were moving along with the students along the windy road to hell, looked like a gruesome monster had slavered all over them while it attempted to read their rushed and scruffy handwriting. The students also baffled over this fact as their gloomy faces looked puzzled over the books while attempting to deceiver the modern day hieroglyphics. The towering block of text would puzzle anyone attempting to mark the gruelling assessment, which was made compulsory by the buffoons (more publicly recognised as politicians). As the bus came to the end of the windy journey, the inhabiting students and teenagers alike marched off the bus and entered what is perceived by many as their second home, despite the fact that they despised every single aspect of the building. Another grelling day had commenced.