Toward the back of the room was a gigantic storage closet where Mr. Watson housed his multiple 36 packs of Diet Mtn. Dew along with any living or once-living creature that might be used for a demonstration or a dissection in class. The last 15 or so students in Rune's science class filtered in, and all the while that unusual stench he had caught a whiff of earlier continued to permeate the room and grow. The class bell rang, and five minutes later there was still no sign of Mr. Watson.
It was always at this point that Rune's vision started to get wavy. The kind of wavy that happens on a hot summer's day when you look down a long strip of highway and see the heatwaves rising off of the asphalt. It was like seeing a mirage in the middle of a Phoenix summer, and even though he knew he was dreaming everything seemed so real. The smell, a mix of formaldehyde and freshly mowed grass dowsed in gasoline, leaked into every square inch of Mr. Watson's classroom. As he looked around the room, Rune could see more and more of his classmates raising the collars of their shirts and placing them over their nostrils and mouth. A cotton t-shirt didn't do much as a gas mask replacement, but the stench was so strong that nearly everyone needed to do something. Five minutes turned into ten minutes, and at exactly twelve minutes after the final bell had rung, the back door of the classroom, an entryway that led directly to the outside of the building, and right across the way from Mr. Watson's storage room swung open. Mr. Watson came through the door, and much to everyone's surprise acted as if nothing was amiss. "Hey everyone! Anyone trying to figure out what that smell is," he said, slowly removing the Bell bike helmet that rested firmly on his head. Rune looked to his left and then to his right. No one was willing to speak up, and they certainly weren't ready to pull their shirt collars down in order to be heard. One of Rune's classmates, a small portly kid named David, inhaled deeply, pulled the collar down from above his nose and said "What exactly is going on here Mr. Watson? Class started 10 minutes ago, and I think I speak for all of us when I say that i'm THIS (he held up his index finger and thumb) close to throwing up." Mr. Watson laid his bike helmet on the counter, unzipped his red windbreaker jacket and hung it on the coat hanger near the outer door. "The smell is pretty intense, isn't it?" Mr. Watson replied. "I have some masks that might help with that." He pulled a key ring out of his khaki pants pocket and after a few long seconds of searching selected the right key and opened his storage closet. The smell continued its death march on everyone's senses. Rune hated the dream, yet no matter how hard he tried there was no way he could wake up. Even knowing that he was dreaming didn't help. This was one of those events that you just had to wait out, even though he'd had the same dream over and over again for years now.
It was always at this point that Rune's vision started to get wavy. The kind of wavy that happens on a hot summer's day when you look down a long strip of highway and see the heatwaves rising off of the asphalt. It was like seeing a mirage in the middle of a Phoenix summer, and even though he knew he was dreaming everything seemed so real. The smell, a mix of formaldehyde and freshly mowed grass dowsed in gasoline, leaked into every square inch of Mr. Watson's classroom. As he looked around the room, Rune could see more and more of his classmates raising the collars of their shirts and placing them over their nostrils and mouth. A cotton t-shirt didn't do much as a gas mask replacement, but the stench was so strong that nearly everyone needed to do something. Five minutes turned into ten minutes, and at exactly twelve minutes after the final bell had rung, the back door of the classroom, an entryway that led directly to the outside of the building, and right across the way from Mr. Watson's storage room swung open. Mr. Watson came through the door, and much to everyone's surprise acted as if nothing was amiss. "Hey everyone! Anyone trying to figure out what that smell is," he said, slowly removing the Bell bike helmet that rested firmly on his head. Rune looked to his left and then to his right. No one was willing to speak up, and they certainly weren't ready to pull their shirt collars down in order to be heard. One of Rune's classmates, a small portly kid named David, inhaled deeply, pulled the collar down from above his nose and said "What exactly is going on here Mr. Watson? Class started 10 minutes ago, and I think I speak for all of us when I say that i'm THIS (he held up his index finger and thumb) close to throwing up." Mr. Watson laid his bike helmet on the counter, unzipped his red windbreaker jacket and hung it on the coat hanger near the outer door. "The smell is pretty intense, isn't it?" Mr. Watson replied. "I have some masks that might help with that." He pulled a key ring out of his khaki pants pocket and after a few long seconds of searching selected the right key and opened his storage closet. The smell continued its death march on everyone's senses. Rune hated the dream, yet no matter how hard he tried there was no way he could wake up. Even knowing that he was dreaming didn't help. This was one of those events that you just had to wait out, even though he'd had the same dream over and over again for years now.
