It was an ordinary classroom. With ordinary people. Ordinary properties, and laws. At least thats what I thought. I didn't really care of course but it was always fun to wonder. The teacher was talking away. Everyone was just staring. It wasn't like they were actually looking. It didn't matter where they 'looked' as they didn't really see.

I looked to the open class room door, students walking about aimlessly, wandering forever. The teacher was talking. I looked down at my desk. There was a paper with something on it, some foreign script that I had never seen. This room was strange to me, as it seemed that only I could care. No one else cared. No one smiled. No one saw.

I was like them in a way. I could not feel. I had no memories of feeling. So I didn't care.

Suddenly, the boy sitting next to me crumpled my paper and threw it in a trash bin, landing dead center without even looking. Not impressed, I looked to my desk where the paper had been, and then to the boy. He did not smile, or grin, or smirk. I reached over and crumpled up his binder, as it were also paper.

I threw it in the trash bin. He looked on with no emotion, no feeling. He didn't care. I gave him no laugh, nor a smile. He leaned over slowly and tore off my arm, as if it were made of paper. I felt a tearing sensation but no pain. I didn't know what pain was. It did not bleed. Perhaps it was paper and I never knew.

He crumpled up my arm and threw it in the trash bin. Suddenly I felt anger. A fiery, vengeful anger. Not for my arm, nor for anything. It was just anger. It was strange being filled with something I had no knowledge of.

I tore at everything. No one cared. Everything tore like paper. The desks, the people, the floor, the walls, the ceiling, the black board EVERYTHING. I tore at the image of students walking in the hall. They waved goodbye with their emotionless wave and look. Everything torn like paper, going into the trash bin. I didn't wonder how it all fit. The anger was gone by then.

Now I was surrounded by white. White forever. The only things were me and the trash bin. I went over to it and looked down. I saw a pencil. No paper. Just a pencil. I picked up the pencil. I started to draw in the air. Curving and bending until I had an arm again. It felt the same.

Suddenly I started drawing everywhere. Curves and lines taking form. I don't know how long I drew. I don't know what 'time' is. I kept drawing and drawing until I finally finished. It was an ordinary classroom. With ordinary people. And no one cared, smiled, or saw.