The Great Storm

1

(3959 words)

The religions professor.

A man whose name didn't even need to be said to know who it was.

Famous was a word to describe the man; well, at least within the school's many buildings.

Everyone knew the religions professor, the handsome man, the eloquent man, the knowledgeable man.

Polite and courteous without being demeaning, yet firm enough in himself to silence a filled lecture hall near instantly with nothing but a single clap.

He was a common topic at lunch tables, in the halls, in offices, in lectures. If you didn't know him, you overheard enough about him to write a biography.

Well, should he not be shrouded in so much mystery.

Yes, the famous professor, the man who never forgot a face or name, whose eyes seemed to take in more about the world than most, who was enthralled with his work and never wavered in getting his students to care about the subjects as fervently as he did, was an enigma.

Clearly his teaching worked; old students would come through every so often and sit through another one of his lectures, come up to him and show him their work. He would never fail to beam at their achievements, obviously proud of the students whose interests he helped foster into careers.

He was kind to everyone, often becoming an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on, a figure to look up to. He was easy to talk to and unintimidating–surprising, considering his broad form and tall stature. He stood over most but never seemed to look down on any.

A demon, yet no one cared. A few didn't even notice his features, how his fangs showed as he smiled or how his ears tapered to a point at their tip.

Even so, you could occasionally catch him in his office during the night, usual gentle smile replaced instead by a scowl as his hand ran through his hair in frustration. He looked serious, almost mean, but when he heard a knock, his head tilted up from his work and he quickly filed it away. He would greet whoever it was with his smile, claiming he wasn't doing much, but the cold tea on his desk remained untouched; forgotten.

No one knew why on those nights he looked so serious, what he grumbled to himself and thought and scribbled about with such a distant look in his eyes, something clearly broiling in his mind.

Everyone knew the religions professor, but no one knew who he was.

╫

You silently stood outside the office door of a man, your colleague of... about two days, holding in a yawn in your anxiousness.

You briefly met him once before; he offered you a kind smile and said if you needed help, to just get to his office, coincidentally right next to yours.

You were glad the semester hadn't started yet (it wouldn't for another 4 weeks, and the campus provided no dorms) or else the students would be walking around you and whispering about why the new professor was stuck just outside his door, not daring to enter until his mind was clear.

You really needed help with scheduling your lessons and assigning how much information should be put into each lecture. It was on your mind as you continued setting up your office, but no matter how much you thought, you couldn't come up with a solid answer. You just needed someone else's opinion.

That was all, it was a simple request.

You bring your hand up, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth. God, why were you so nervous? A sudden boom of thunder makes you flinch; the unexpected noise was loud, the kind of sound that would reverberate through the walls and shake any less sturdy buildings.