Friday fiction: Go slow

I think I've figured out what the old guy was on about. The one with the mad hair What's his name? Moustache like a walrus and hair all over the place.

Anyway. Oh, Einstein, that's it. Alfred Einstein. Wasn't he married to Marilyn Monroe? Weird. So, he had that thing about relativeness, didn't he? And time.

I've figured it out. Time goes faster and time goes slower - and how fast it goes is kind of relative. Relative to whether you're having fun or not. And whether you're waiting, and if you are, what you're waiting for.

So, if I'm waiting for the last class of the day to finish on the last day of term time then Alfred's right - time goes very, very slow. So slow that you can hardly stand it and you want to get up out of your chair and scream.

When does it go fast? How about when it's my birthday party. Everything is so right and I’m so the centre of attention.

Right now it has frozen solid. What is the opposite of melting...? 
Wait, what was that. I think I heard something. Like a door shutting down there somewhere. This is it. Has to be... No, all quiet again.

How long have I been up here? I wish I had my phone. It has to have been more than an hour. Or maybe even two. Like it's 'upstairs, get ready and ‘wait for me there’. How it always is. 
Wait, and figure out an excuse that might just turn save my butt from its worst-ever roasting... But then who can say what is the ‘worst ever’? Isn't everything relative.