Perfect (Watty Awards 2013)

Chapter 5.75: Stopping From The End

Chapter 5.75: Stopping From The End

              Paper works wried themselves a prideful tirade in front of Ethan’s thick-rimmed glasses. The sun was snoring away drowsiness as its flaming hue peeked through the slits of the pale bleak vertical slides.

              “Ethan, write an article about Grilled Venison with spicy sauce and wine. Then, please edit the remaining articles stacked on my table. They are all due tomorrow afternoon,” Audrielle sternly commanded.

              “And you?” Ethan asked as he rubbed the moisturized lens of his glasses. “You’re the EIC and I still need to do my novel.”

              “I…” Audrielle tried to think, “need to go and collect more articles,” she excused the cliff-question thrown at her which Ethan was smart at.

              He was unnervingly satisfied with the mountain range of papers avalanching in front and under his classic black vest. “For me to edit? Or for me to burn?” he asked.

              Audrielle grunted, “Anyway I’ll help you out.”

              “Oh, Audrielle, stop being a Miss-nice-friendly-lass to me. It’s reeking out a foul odor,” he frankly said with a sarcastic smile.

              “Excuse me?” she asked with an obvious annoyance printed on her arched eyebrow.

              “You’re free to go. Good luck collecting,” he coldly resented. “One might be a hate letter addressed to you,” he murmured, followed by sardonic smile.

              Ethan sighed as Audrielle threw the door close. He was never near stopping the hoard of deadlines voluntarily bombarding themselves to him. He gasped for air as he properly buttoned his vest. The air was cold, raucously embracing him.

              “The Student’s Column,” he uttered to himself. “Audrielle should do this. Not me. But oh well, I enjoy writing. What could hurt? Besides, it is just a letter sent by some student who asks advices… mostly about non-ending heartbreaks that resumes every week, game problems on how to hack certain video game, and, I guess that’s it,” he muttered.

              “She’s using you!” Enid’s voice echoed in his full-packed head underneath his nicely waving hair.

              Ethan wryly smiled and flipped through the last batch of questions for The Student’s Column.

              I am bullied. Those words catch his giddy expression as he read.

              Ethan continues to scan the paper. Without a doubt, he thought, I guess there’s still faith in people who wants to create a difference. His eyes navigated the finely written article with a printed black ink. His dark eyes absorbed the heartily written brilliance and it was unnervingly sending him Goosebumps with every word.

              I’m a loser. Like my friends. It started speaking. I watched them, the people, in the center of our own memorial field from the bleachers, practicing their symmetrically presented routines. Beyond that, I somehow dreamt of being into one. I never strived because I was contented with how things work out for me; I am happy with my friends. They value me no matter what. Sometimes, since that fateful morning, I resent myself. I hated myself but I couldn’t help it. I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to return. I wanted to move on. I wanted, but my promise to protect them is holding me. I wanted to be released but I cannot. It’s just simply precious for me to let go. I love them. I love my friends.