Bottle Green Daffodil

Chapter 5: Fire Escape (Part I)

Left. Straight ahead. Left again.

The girl darted her eyes so much it made Zion wonder about the possibility of her optical nerves snapping up. She was trying hard not to be obvious. Too hard, infact.

Her eyes met his.

Aha! Caught you.

He glared at her. She looked away.

Yes, it wasn't her fault a lilac blotch decided to exhibit itself from his jawline. Admitted his Florence Nightangle capabilities were comatose but an icepack was supposed to help. Now the testimony to what conspired between him and Rosemary was there for everyone to see. The bruise was less of a bother than people's attention hording towards it.

That, friends, neighbours, and countrymen ran antagonist to Zion's camouflaging skill. He did not want the limelight of people's scrutiny falling upon him. Wormhole had given him a fair share of it.

Once again, why was he stopped from wearing a Vendetta's mask to college?

"Dude!" A hoarse voice, few decibles higher than the one buzzing around, hollered.

And because eliciting a response to every call of "dudes" around the campus seemed rather idiotic, Zion ignored it.

The 'dude' could be anybody. He started walking up the flight of stairs that lead to a building looming long and large, fat pillars for support, fancy looking French windows, steeples so high if made one wonder about the possibility of Rapunzel, inscripted cornices nobody botherd reading, Llyod College was a marvel of bourgeoise Victorian architecture built on generous funds.  

From the corner of his eyes Zion saw two shadows loom over his.
"Dude, hey!" A gust of hot breath fanned his neck.

Pablo and Geoff were standing beside him the next second.  

"Where were you yester--- Shit, mate! What's wrong with your face?" Geoff asked out loud.

"Glad you noticed," Zion's reply was sardonic.

Forehead crinkling, eyes two narrow slits of blue, taut jawline: Geoff looked menacing. As menacing as an alley's hoodlum. Then he smiled. "Ouch! All grumpy. Someone's having period."  

"Yeah. Your girlfriend."

"Burn, Geoff." Pablo offered politely.

The three boys continued walking up the flight of stairs, the topic of Zion's bruised face discarded for good.

When moments like this presented itself, the regret of sharing a smoke with Geoff and Pablo at the Literature department washroom would seize Zion. He wasn't acutely fond of them; he never asked what they were doing during weekends or, for that matter, who they were doing. The information was volunteered by them, slipping easily during conversation.

"I pulled an all nighter to complete my essay," Pablo said, stocky fingers assaulting his ebony hair. "By the way, I hooked with that chick from my philosophy class. Now I know more about nirvana."

He laughed with the satisfaction of cracking the hilarious joke.   Geoff demanded details.

The two weren't shallow. Not always. Sometimes they were tolerable; it usually happened when a ceratin amount of alcohol was ingested in their system. During such state of deep intoxication or slight tipsiness, they became the possessor of never ending philosophy about everything in the aging Universe.
"Politics, mate," Geoff would furrow his brow in concentration. "It's shite. Absolute garbage."

Pablo would belch. "Conning us, those smooth talkers."

Once the sanctuary of classroom was reached, Zion pried himself away from them  and chose to sit next to Caroline Mayhem. The classroom had an arcade like seating arrangement: huge semi-circular steps which tapered towards an elevated stage and a large white board.  It was then Zion realised he did not have much of a social life.