Read Online One Hundred Percent Lunar Boy by Stephen Tunney - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephen Tunney
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, Fiction - General, Science-Fiction, adventure, Science Fiction - General, Love Stories, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Science Fiction - Adventure, Teenage boys, Dystopias, Moon
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obviously insulted. “I look nothing like that sling-shot! You got your typhoon sucking backwards again, penguin buster!”
“I meant it as a compliment,” Bruegel yelled back, laughing with both mockery and affection. By the time he finished his sentence, there was an altercation on the opposite side of the room, with one Loopie already smashing another in the face with a huge metal belt buckle he was using like a pair of brass knuckles. Mr. Flustegelin ran over to the fight in an attempt to break it up, but instead tripped over a student’s foot. The student, despite having his whole leg jutting out, sitting in the most improper fashion, actually did not intend to cause Mr. Flustegelin to fall, but was still, nevertheless, outraged the teacher did not see his leg. The minuscule bit of pain that momentarily flashed through his toe caused this student to roar and scream the worst accusations at the poor embattled teacher who lay on the floor, his own skull throbbing from slamming onto the hard surface. The crying student, seizing a moment of self-righteous outrage, hopped over to the teacher’s table, picked up the tablet screen that the wounded adult had been using for his lesson plan, and smacked the stunned Mr. Flustegelin directly in the face just as the man was getting up.
“You abusive, student-hitting monster!” he shouted. “You broke my toe! You broke my toe!”
With every shout of the word toe, he smashed the tablet down on the man, who lay in a fetal position, covering his head with his arms to shield himself from further blows. Within seconds, other students joined in on the assault, surrounding their teacher, whom they hardly knew because he was new and could never control their class even for a second, and kicked him as if he were a bag of diseased rats.
Bruegel took no part in this attack, but instead smashed open the lock on an old closet with a hammer he had smuggled into the school, and within moments was tossing all kinds of small plastic tools and data cards and student tablets all over the room, singing a popular song.
Someday it will rain on the Moon
and when it does, I’ll reign on you.
Hieronymus hid under his desk. Soon the security guards would arrive as they always did, nearly every hour, it seemed, as scenes like this were common in the Loopie class. He quietly took out his own secret mini-tablet, where he was preparing an exposé on
The Confessions
by Jean-Jacques Rousseau for his philosophy class. He had just finished reading it, and in its original language no less. He wanted to sprint out just as the guards showed up with their batons and nets and stun-gas. He hated to be late to class because of this kind of thing.
Moments later, like a sailor arriving in a calm port after a swirling tempest at sea, he would arrive in philosophy. Or history. Or literature. No one in those classes had any idea of his other life among the mad. And the mad had no idea of his other life among the intellectuals. He stepped in and out of both worlds seamlessly. He belonged in both, and his eyes bore the color that belonged nowhere.
chapter three
Hieronymus and Slue had entered the media-viewing rotunda to gather some research materials for an exposé they were collaborating on — the project was to be an examination of
The Random Treewolf
by Naac Koonx. Hieronymus had already collected a myriad of critical opinions and notes on this well-known classic, and his own analysis on it was already beyond all reproach — however, thanks to his father’s brother, Uncle Reno, he had discovered something about
The Random Treewolf
of which he was certain not even his professor was aware. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Slue’s face once he showed her.
It would blow her One Hundred Percent Lunar mind.
He and Slue sat down together at a table in the center of the huge room and plugged into a data terminal. They took out their tablets and launched their stylo-points.
“Well…” he began as about
“I meant it as a compliment,” Bruegel yelled back, laughing with both mockery and affection. By the time he finished his sentence, there was an altercation on the opposite side of the room, with one Loopie already smashing another in the face with a huge metal belt buckle he was using like a pair of brass knuckles. Mr. Flustegelin ran over to the fight in an attempt to break it up, but instead tripped over a student’s foot. The student, despite having his whole leg jutting out, sitting in the most improper fashion, actually did not intend to cause Mr. Flustegelin to fall, but was still, nevertheless, outraged the teacher did not see his leg. The minuscule bit of pain that momentarily flashed through his toe caused this student to roar and scream the worst accusations at the poor embattled teacher who lay on the floor, his own skull throbbing from slamming onto the hard surface. The crying student, seizing a moment of self-righteous outrage, hopped over to the teacher’s table, picked up the tablet screen that the wounded adult had been using for his lesson plan, and smacked the stunned Mr. Flustegelin directly in the face just as the man was getting up.
“You abusive, student-hitting monster!” he shouted. “You broke my toe! You broke my toe!”
With every shout of the word toe, he smashed the tablet down on the man, who lay in a fetal position, covering his head with his arms to shield himself from further blows. Within seconds, other students joined in on the assault, surrounding their teacher, whom they hardly knew because he was new and could never control their class even for a second, and kicked him as if he were a bag of diseased rats.
Bruegel took no part in this attack, but instead smashed open the lock on an old closet with a hammer he had smuggled into the school, and within moments was tossing all kinds of small plastic tools and data cards and student tablets all over the room, singing a popular song.
Someday it will rain on the Moon
and when it does, I’ll reign on you.
Hieronymus hid under his desk. Soon the security guards would arrive as they always did, nearly every hour, it seemed, as scenes like this were common in the Loopie class. He quietly took out his own secret mini-tablet, where he was preparing an exposé on
The Confessions
by Jean-Jacques Rousseau for his philosophy class. He had just finished reading it, and in its original language no less. He wanted to sprint out just as the guards showed up with their batons and nets and stun-gas. He hated to be late to class because of this kind of thing.
Moments later, like a sailor arriving in a calm port after a swirling tempest at sea, he would arrive in philosophy. Or history. Or literature. No one in those classes had any idea of his other life among the mad. And the mad had no idea of his other life among the intellectuals. He stepped in and out of both worlds seamlessly. He belonged in both, and his eyes bore the color that belonged nowhere.
chapter three
Hieronymus and Slue had entered the media-viewing rotunda to gather some research materials for an exposé they were collaborating on — the project was to be an examination of
The Random Treewolf
by Naac Koonx. Hieronymus had already collected a myriad of critical opinions and notes on this well-known classic, and his own analysis on it was already beyond all reproach — however, thanks to his father’s brother, Uncle Reno, he had discovered something about
The Random Treewolf
of which he was certain not even his professor was aware. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Slue’s face once he showed her.
It would blow her One Hundred Percent Lunar mind.
He and Slue sat down together at a table in the center of the huge room and plugged into a data terminal. They took out their tablets and launched their stylo-points.
“Well…” he began as about
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