Terror at school

I'm not relaxed. I should be. I'm not. My -non-existent- boyfriend and I are watching TV, my head resting on his shoulder. For some reasons, we're doing so on a covered basketball pitch. I'm not stressed because I think this is a weird place to watch TV (it's one of those things that seems perfectly normal in my dreams), I am stressed because I can feel something's up.
I hear noises. He looks around, there's nobody. Most of the time, I can't go to bed without thinking I'm going to get killed by something hidden in my room so we both think it's just my usual paranoia. We watch some more TV, he pulls me closer but I can still feel it. In my stomach, there is something wrong and I still hear noises.
I don't know if this has ever happened to you but it's truly annoying when you know something's going to happen but you have to wait and nobody believes it's going to happen (ok it rarely happens to me in real life but I expect people to actually believe me in my dreams)

Anyway, it happened. A bunch of guys wearing full black army-like outfit ran through the doors and start shooting at us! I roll to the right while my Edward (in memory of the very alive Edward Norton) goes left. Bullets are flying around us. I manage to get to the stairs and climb toward the first floor. A bunch of students are standing there wondering what's happening? And what the Hell they're supposed to do! Just when I reach them, a bullet hits my leg. OMG this hurts! (I have never been shot, but if it's anything like this, I would advise you to avoid it).
I fall down face first on the floor like a buttered toast. The bastard who shot me looks like Morgan Freeman. As we walk closer to me, I can hear people saying "he's going to do the pen thing, he's going to do the pen thing". I have no idea what the "pen thing" is but I have a feeling that it’s not good for me. Since I don't want to know if he's going to stick a pen in my eye or what, I turn around and start "sliding" backwards -very French snail attitude. Behind me, I can see other men have taken the students by surprise and one of them is now using his knife to paint a young girl's chest a red blood color.
Morgan Freeman's lookalike is now really close to me. I am not big on praying or yoga but for some reasons that's why I choose to do now. To be honest, I don't have many options. My main problem is that they have weapons and I don't. So in a very American movie style, I stuck my right foot under my left leg (obviously I can't bend the other leg, that'd be a bit too Rocky for me); put each thumbs with their neighbouring index fingers and in this half-yoga position, start praying.
It goes something like this (it was in French which answers the question "which language do you dream in?"):
"Dieu est grand et il me sauvera - God is great and he will save me.

La pureté de nos cœurs régnera - The purity in our heart will reign"
As I'm pronouncing these words, I keep my eyes closed very tightly. I know the situation is bad and whatever happens I want to do my best to ignore it. I am not sitting on a school floor, with kids being tortured behind me, a bullet in my leg and a guy ready to rip my eyes off or worst. I am somewhere else, I don't know where, anywhere.
To my own surprise, when Morganito comes to do his trick, I open my eyes;  grab the knife from his holder and slide it from the side of his jacket straight to his chest. He falls on his side, dead. I put my hands on the floor and say "thank you".
Seeing this, a woman from the bad guys gang jumps at me (which sounds ridiculous since I'm sitting on the floor). I lift my knife high and get her in the stomach. I pick up what she left on the floor. Stands up awkwardly and lift the gun now in my hand. I look at the students with a big smile on my face turn to two of the terrorist and starts shooting. Let the fun begin.

Stuck in the car park

Ah here we go, finally found a spot in the parking. Two doors open, then another two, then the last one. We're all out. My aunt is there, we have a little chat about this cat which is not mine. My mum mumbles something and walks toward the exit followed by my dad.

I open the back door and start spreading semolina on the sit. I need it to dry it and this seems the best place to do it (1). I figure my parents won't be happy with it (2) but I have no choice (3). I could have put some paper under it...oh well...
The job done, I slam the door and leave the car park. While taking the stairs to the upper level I realise I have no idea where I'm going. My mum didn't tell me which room we're in and she has taken my bag therefore my mobile. As I emerge from the parking, two huge beige towers stand on each of my side. It's the hotel. The reception is on my left.
-"Hi, sorry, I don't know which room I'm in, could you check?" I ask the young lady.
-"Sure let me see your ticket" she asks. I pull from my pocket a tiny green ticket with a bar code and many inscriptions on it. She takes it and tries to get information from the code but the computer doesn't recognise it. -"I'm sorry it's not working" she apologies.
-"Ok but I need to know which room is mine; can't you find out some other way?" I plead.
-"No, sorry" she adds cutting the conversation  short. I make my way out. She doesn't wish me a good night, she knows it won't be.


(1) Surely preparing Couscous on a back sit is common in Africa…
(2) You bet!
(3) Everything’s relative

Lunch break

The canteen is crowded again. It's always the same: I have to queue to get food; look for a table in this haystack and eat my hot meal cold. As soon as I sit in front of my colleague and start enjoying my tasteless meal, the reception calls me. I turn to the right where a girl in a green uniform is handing me the headset. On the phone, a client complains about his system not working. I haven't been trained yet and have no idea what she's talking about. Her high pitch voice is stressing me out but I can't do anything for her. Still, I decide to leave my meal, my colleague and the canteen and go back to my desk. Hopefully, I can figure out some bullshit to give her.
The sky is dark and it's pouring outside. People stand under the porch not wanting to move under the heavy rain. I have to go so I step under it. To my surprise, the rain is hardly touching me, I have quite a walk to my car but I stay dry.
The engine runs slowly as I'm driving through tiny streets. Some of them are so narrow; I wonder how can the car fit? I follow the cars in front of me, if they can do it, I can. The only difference between us is they probably know where they're going while I'm completely lost. Poor client's gonna wait a while...
I park in front of a little house. Some friends are there. The house's pretty much empty except for some paintings. A friend offers me to take one. It's a green& blue young man's face. The colour makes it inhuman and scary. I thank him and refuse.
I walk to my students. I'm a sport teacher (1). There's 10 of them, mainly girls. A black girl comes toward me and complains about the rain with a strong North London accent. "I can't stop the rain and we would train under a F*****G volcano eruption" I reply. (2) She's wearing a small short which looks more like some underwear, so in an amazingly diplomatic attempt to settle it all down I add: "If you were wearing proper clothes you wouldn't be cold" (3). At this moment, my obligations as a teacher come back to me and I apologies to the teenager. She rightly tells me to F*** o** and ignores my calls for forgiveness. Strangely, her friends take my defense, insisting that I'm a nice teacher  and they all like me (4) but she stays put.
So I decide to fold all the bags, ask the girls to take one each and walk to the director's office. They follow me while I explain how I will forward their complains to him. (5) I still apologies a few times to the girl who seems to be coming around it. The scenery’s very similar to the Pont du Gard, as if the river had dried up and you could walk under it... The office's somewhere under the arches but we never get to it.
I woke up (6).

(1) I should probably teach myself first...
(2) Yes, I did use to teach...
(3) Yes, seriously!
(4) Who doesn't?
(5) Pont du Gard, where I was a few weeks ago
(5) It's well know, teachers can't do anything about the weather but directors can.
(6) A shame for the end of this story, a good news for me :)