Matthew

One student’s opinion, regarding the torture or bliss upon a 6 day school week, as some regions have adopted:

School. The place of learning, and of unfathomable torture. Human’s inquisitive nature is obscured, encysted, shattered beneath the ponderous yet inexorable grasp of school’s conformity, like vipers languidly coiling about the chest, slowly forcing air form lungs, so to does school slowly, sadistically constrict the spirit within its baleful vigil. Six days of this, would prove to much, shattering the spirit like so much glass,casting their ratted shards into a new and permanent form of its own design, one incapable of the original thought which so few years subsequent will be forced upon it once more, to forcibly restore that which was similarly sundered away. 

For we have yet to inure ego such ponderous torment, so irrefutably unlike those we seek to emulate, as their own souls are cast from different constructs, and wielded with a different avidity. The human mind lusts for knowledge to fill, to satiate its coiled form, yet it resists conformity with a sentient rage, its every aspect fervently guarding individuality. Yet no guardian can stand forever. Beneath the onslaught of five days, much less six, the ponderous sentinel may collapse, and languish forgot as identity is cleansed, reluctantly shorn from the mind within which it lay so recently. Six days. Six torturous days in which we become little aside from machines, listening, recording, and regurgitating that which was cast upon us, forced into beleaguered minds for the amusement and glory of some corporate power, its ponderous snare far to surely bound to fail, surely those unable to remain content must be diseased, surely their methods cannot be flawed! Then the snare retracts, its coils released without warning or hope to return, that swiftly we must once again discover identity lest society cast us aside to languish as surely in body as our minds so recently had.

Six days. Six days for identity to fade, and lifeless cadavers, husks of former humans assailed by knowledge, eroding personality as surely as even the most gentle stream erodes its stony confines. 

Such a flawed practice can be nullified only by accepting humans as individuals, rather than creatures to be trained by strident bells and chastised with promises of expatriation and foul marks on tests, marring future as surely as paper. Six days. Six days to accept our powerless echelon, and realize that surely a practice of such longevity cannot be flawed, surely we are simply diseased, and they are the cure. Six days. Six days to patiently languish, and await the week of seven.