Faux Pas

        I strode as calmly as I could to the door and slowly opened it. The second I opened it, my feet pedaled swiftly, into a run. I ran like my life depended on it. And it sort of did. Seconds later, the doors opened again and people spilled out in a rush, yelling with wrath and pure, unbridled anger, brandishing ink pens, pencil sharpeners, rulers, case materials, banana peels, tumblers, hair clips, used condoms, chappals with and without heels, laptop adapters and even a bucket of cold water. In pursuit, of the one person responsible for everything.

        Me.

     In my defense, I swear on every god of the Norse mythology, that I never intended to, in the first place. It was a chocolate wrapper. Trust me. In the most unlikely case, that you don't, here it is how it was a chocolate wrapper.

23 hours 10 minutes ago:

      My room fan was spewing out guttural noises and wind in equal proportions. I was having a rather weird nightmare where, me and my girlfriend were in a boxing match, with two bulky, grotesque ogres, who bore uncanny resemblances to my future in-laws. I peered closely trying to figure out who they were and completely missed the roundhouse punch that came out of nowhere and dislodged half my dental assets on it's way. I howled like a wounded buffalo and swore long and loud. My wife jumped into the ring and promptly handed me a mirror. I, like the proverbial born idiot, looked into it and a shock worth 24,000V instantly passed through me, as I tried to give a toothless yellow grin.
     I woke up sweating. "Whew!" I said, after the same old, boring things that people usually say when they have a ruddy nightmare and crawled out of the bed, groggily. I was hungry and wanted to munch something, urgently. I blindly felt my way to the pantry, blindly felt and took out a Cadburys bar, blindly tore open the wrapper and blindly slept off. The Cadbury's bar slipped onto the floor along with the wrapper, uneaten and it lay there.
     The next day, I woke up and dressed hurriedly in a shirt and a pair of brown trousers that were lying there on the floor. I ran out of my room with my bag, having forgotten to put on my underwear, noticed it halfway through, went back again to do it, almost did, deliberated for quite a long time weighing the options of getting publicly exposed, finally decided against it, blamed the damned heat and bolted for class.
      Class went on normally; read absolutely boring and as usual I imitated a perfect dork to the bone. Until then. It all happened in the last five minutes of the last period. Everybody was quite exhausted and desperately wanted the hour to get over. And suddenly, like Venus, my hand rose.
      I rue the action now, as I nurse my broken bones and black bruises. It was all because of that chocolate bar and its wrapper. If I had eaten it, the local ant army would not have come to devour it. If they had not come, a stray, vagabond ant would not have tried the Indiana Jones act and started exploring my clothes. If it had not climbed up into my shirt, it would not have bit my upper arm and I, for all the rotten, damned, luck in the world, would not have been forced to put my hand up, involuntarily. In pain, of course.
      The class went silent. I could hear a mosquito, farting. The professor looked at me in disbelief and I looked back in horror. I had to ask a doubt. It was the cardinal rule and having raised my hand, there was no turning back. I rummaged through the dull, grey mass of matter rotting away within my skull, pulled out a question that in every sense, made absolute nonsense and lobbied it at him, hoping for a miracle.
      Nope. God was royally pissed with me. Of all the luck, it so happened that it was the professor's favorite area and he launched into one of the longest lectures that went on, for what looked like many days. Seasons changed. Britney's daughter eloped with my son. Agarkar had bowled a maiden over. And Bush mysteriously disappeared into the African jungle. Anyway, by the time the professor finished, my section mates' hunger had abated. But something else had taken it's place. Something that made them flex their muscles. Something that would make me invoke my health insurance. Something bad.

78 seconds later:

Which is why, I am running now.