PYRAMIDS OF PARANOIA (Chapter 2)

He stopped reading, overwhelmed by the grotesque, simplistic hatred being spewed on every page. What was this place? What had he walked into? He glanced up at the other students, their faces emotionless, absorbed in their hateful readings as though they were the gospel truth.

Before he could stop himself, Ivan muttered, "A world without child abuse would be like heaven. Why should we judge other nations so harshly when we could do something about abuse and violence instead?" His voice cracked, but he pressed on. Each word felt like a small act of defiance, though no one seemed to care. They were too absorbed in their hateful mantras, too comfortable in their ignorance. "Multiculturalism and diversity don't have to be failed experiments. We could set a better example--"

A loud, authoritative voice cut him off. "Sorry, multiculturalism and diversity are overrated clichés," it said, dripping with contempt. Ivan's eyes followed the voice to its source: a student who looked unsettlingly familiar, with features that resembled a young Adolf Hitler. His smile was as hollow as the words in the textbook. He didn't need to say anything more. The room did the work for him, his very presence enough to suffocate any dissent. There was something cold and calculating about his gaze, though it was softened by the quick affection of a pretty woman who sauntered over to him, kissing him with theatrical devotion.

She turned to Ivan, her eyes narrowing with disdain. Her smile was thin, like she had already dismissed him. It wasn't hatred she felt, Ivan realized--it was worse. It was indifference. "This is Mark," she said proudly. "He co-wrote the textbook you're trying to read. I'm Sadie. I don't like Pusseans. You're Pussean, right?"

"Quarter-Pussean," Ivan mumbled, suddenly feeling exposed. "My parents were from Morantea. I'm more Morantean than Pussean..."

But Sadie wasn't listening. Her eyes flicked over Ivan with thinly veiled contempt, before she turned her attention back to Mark, whispering something in his ear that made him smirk.

Ivan stood there, clutching the hateful textbook, drowning in a mix of rage, confusion, and the cold realization that he didn't belong here. His heart raced, not just from the fear of exposure, but from the mounting frustration. These people--do they even hear themselves? The bile of their words burned in his throat, but Ivan held on to one truth--his truth--no matter how fragile it seemed in this place.

The walls seemed to close in around him, the flickering lights, the hateful stares, the murmured whispers of derision. He had entered a world that didn't just despise him for who he was, but for everything he believed in.

The teacher, Rosemary Plant, arrived and unlocked the classroom door just as the sound of melodious yet dissonant church bells flooded the hallways, heralding the eternal return of the midnight hour--the beginning of a new class and day. Ivan awkwardly returned the textbook to the woman with the magenta glasses, an oppressive wave of frustration crashing over him, overwhelming him with the realization that he had wasted his opportunity to study for the test. The feeling weighed him down, pulling him into a deep sense of alienation and distraction.

Rosemary commanded them all to rearrange the desks so that no one could cheat on the test. Ivan wasn't exactly sure how to go about this task, and the other students grew impatient, their voices rising with empty admonishments and taunts: "It's not our fault if you're new and just started here." "Some of us would like to finish this test before 2 a.m." "Slowpoke, go faster, faggot."