by Elizabeth Pierce Ritz

Created on: August 04, 2011

The Philosophy students filed into the auditorium, using some unknown discretion for choosing their seat. They greeted their fellow student always to the extent of that fellow student's grasp of philosophy, by their standards. They didn't like to play, except with their intellect. So they took philosophy very seriously.

To the students that seemed to get good remarks from the Professor, they would twist this way or that to greet them and say "Great to see you. Sit here," as they motioned to a scattered empty seat in the midst of their kind.

Others got a perfunctory "Hey, how you doing?" While a few others arrived during a great debate before class started and were virtually ignored. One student attempted a smile towards the class but wasn't seen.

Professor August entered the stage with his usual austerity and made the following announcement: ""At the end of this session, you will write a paper, the length of which is up to you, and then you may leave. This will count for eighty per-cent of your final grade."
Some grumbling occurred at the lack of preparation and the unfairness of his words, especially amongst the students with notebooks filled with pages upon pages of the semester's notes.
Those who seemed not right, to the class, chuckled at Professor August's easy final assignment.

Professor August removed the podium, behind which a seemingly unkempt person sat with one arm poised up and out, away from his body, while one hand hovered over the area of his stomach.
Professor tapped the podium from the right of the stage to bring total silence, gave a short gesture toward the man, and a short bow to mean the Professor acquiesced the floor to the man.

The man said nothing, but occasionally looked toward his left hand, which seemed to be going through some spasm. He moved his arm up and down occasionally with spasmodic fingers. His right hand seemed to be touching his stomach, though it didn't, while it appeared as if he was brushing lint off his well worn shirt. The man nodded quickly, occasionally, or slowly, depending on what his fingers and arm were doing. Then he stood up and the students leaned in. He kept a foot balanced off the floor or sometimes leaned back feverishly, seeming to shave lint from his shirt above his belt.

Everyone wanted to talk but no one dared, for eighty percent of their grade was riding on this, this what? An epileptic seizure? How could one plan that? And the cruelty of mocking a seizure wasn't lost on some of the students.

The lone student

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