‹ Prequel: Our Secret Place
Status: (2016) Active for the summer!! :)
In Oceans Deep
Cold
School gives him no comfort in his despair, a jungle of fierce glances and low growls, the flow of others who steer clear of him and those who whisper his name. Sitting alone in the corner is more painful than anything. Knowing that his brother isn’t here anymore to keep his smile on his face wounds him.
The bell rings, its shrill toll an unpleasant reminder of why he is here. He watches motionless as others walk past him, sneaking glances, more hushed cruel words.
Last to leave he trails out of the lunch hall hearing what sounds a sweet name on others’ lips. Corisande. That is her name, the girl he had attacked outside her own home.
Sweat and anger flow off heated shaking hands as he trudges down the hallway into class. He keeps his eyes low but he can still feel their glares like hot pokers inches from his skin, the tension of being jumped akin to the fear of being branded by the iron.
The fear doesn’t leave as he takes his seat, guilt making his purchase sound heavier than usual. His chair groans beneath him as if it too feels the weight he bears. A side glance to a desk in the corner confirms it. An empty chair should be filled with her angelic frame. Corisande. Why had he done it?
All of him wants to get up and leave, to cause a commotion and then take flight, leaving the scene in tatters and the people in disarray. Chaos is my friend, a sentence plays round his head. Oh how he wants to make the class spin.
But he doesn’t. He sits with fingernails marking desk wood and rubber soles pressed hard marking tile floors. He clenches his jaw, tongue firm against the roof of its cave, nostrils flaring and eyes mad, but he stays there, still; the guilt a ball and chains shackling his feet.
The bell rings, its shrill toll an unpleasant reminder of why he is here. He watches motionless as others walk past him, sneaking glances, more hushed cruel words.
Last to leave he trails out of the lunch hall hearing what sounds a sweet name on others’ lips. Corisande. That is her name, the girl he had attacked outside her own home.
Sweat and anger flow off heated shaking hands as he trudges down the hallway into class. He keeps his eyes low but he can still feel their glares like hot pokers inches from his skin, the tension of being jumped akin to the fear of being branded by the iron.
The fear doesn’t leave as he takes his seat, guilt making his purchase sound heavier than usual. His chair groans beneath him as if it too feels the weight he bears. A side glance to a desk in the corner confirms it. An empty chair should be filled with her angelic frame. Corisande. Why had he done it?
All of him wants to get up and leave, to cause a commotion and then take flight, leaving the scene in tatters and the people in disarray. Chaos is my friend, a sentence plays round his head. Oh how he wants to make the class spin.
But he doesn’t. He sits with fingernails marking desk wood and rubber soles pressed hard marking tile floors. He clenches his jaw, tongue firm against the roof of its cave, nostrils flaring and eyes mad, but he stays there, still; the guilt a ball and chains shackling his feet.