rich man's world; charlie dalton

[fifteen] roll call

He smelled of burning pomegranates on top of the stove and the liquor spilling down an alcoholic's chin after a night of ruthless gambling and reminiscing on their life before toxicity.

Pomegranates once were a smell of luxury to her, now as she looks at him all she observes is worms poking out the sphere's side and the trees slowly getting parasites from the rotting fruit.

He was never an unpleasant boy, if anything he was like an angel if you were oblivious enough to his blood-thirst and desire for purity. Not purity of innocence, purity of mankind.

Whoever was deemed unfit in his eyes might as well write their name on the tombstone. He stole most of death's inside jobs. A woman who would have been dead in the morning of old age would be found with her heart ripped out of her chest.

The liquid, as well all know by now, is red. Like pomegranates.

So why was his pomegranate burning on top of a stove? His drunkard spirit must have put it there, it always had a hard time deciphering what was real and what was a fib made up in his head. His drunkard spirit must have been thinking of a wife, he was gambling with life every moment he hovered over a lifeless body and saliva poured down his chin. He killed with his mouth open, like he was receiving the ultimate satisfaction. When he ejaculates in the evening, thinking of ripping a woman's heart out or how it would feel to have his rough hand against some porcelain skin, he smiles at his lack of innocence.

Once she's unworthy, she'll just be another body six feet under.

He always walked over her anyways.

He doesn't find a difference.

Teach me to love? Go teach thyself more wit.

"Hi."

I, chief professor, am of it.

"Hi," she turned to him with a bright smile, hugging a book close to her chest. She'd seen him many times before at dances hosted for both Henley Hall and Welton but he'd never taken the time to speak to her. She felt his eyes on her as she looked down shyly, her cheeks going red as she backed up into the wall. She expected there to be more space but she overestimated. She giggled to herself before looking back up, he smiled.

The god of love, if such a thing there be, may learn to love from me.

"Girls at Welton? I thought I'd never live to see the day," Charlie took in Marvette's gaze as she shyly got off the wall. Her eyes went to the end of the hallway, watching the other girls beginning to walk to a different section of the school. She wondered if she would be left behind but she was too focused on the conversation to walk off.

"Really? I was sure I've seen a girl when we walked in," her eyebrows furrowed before her eyes widened at the line almost ending. "Even winked at her to show that I thought she was cool. She looked really pretty, I'd die for hair like hers. I ought to be her friend."

"I could introduce you two if you'd like," he put his hands in his pockets before turning his neck in the direction she'd been looking at, "And I meant new girls at Welton. With strict traditions and all I imagined Welton being strictly male until the end of time...or at least until I was well out of here. It quite refreshing, I'm Charlie Dalton."

"Marvette Ford," she put a hair behind her ear before looking up at him, "Look, I've got to go. It was great talking to you Charlie, we've got roll call but I promise to come back to finish the introduction," she tried walking off but her book fell to her feet.

He reached down for it the same time she did, she gasped as their hands touched on top of the book before she quickly stood up and apologized. He shook his head, forking over the book in her direction. "How about I walk you?"