Flight School: Prey

Peekaboo

The eye of resentment—

pricked by shards of ice

—has broken lenses.

Peekaboo.

_______________________________

It had been long since Iolani had woke to the sound of Lyra's chirp; and this to him—provided a soothing comfort to morning blues.

Peace swayed like a blossom in the wind, hovering in the air while it lasted. The boy turned to see that his roommate was still asleep.

His feet swung out of the warm comfort under his covers and touched the cold floor. No slippers for the sparrow. The sound of them tapping against the floor would wake Jiro up.

Io crossed the bedroom towards the bath, retrieving a face towel along the way and a set of his school uniform that he had ironed the night before. The picnic with Professor Callaghan had left him rather restless yesterday—partly because of the spilled questions that felt very much like a puddle of water in the rain, going nowhere; and partly because of the absence of their third (if Callaghan was to be considered as the first) member.

He never turned up.

These restless sentiments he had translated into action; ironing, cleaning, packing and finishing several assignments that he had missed out during his stay in the infirmary. It was only near midnight that he had begun to feel the weight of the day on his shoulders, which he had gladly yielded himself to.

At this point of time, there seemed to Io nothing to worry about. Not a single heavy cloud in the sky; and not a note of darkness in the coming light.

Strangely however—and a little ironically—extreme peace and tranquility could leave a heart unsettled;

And even rather displeased.

_________________________________

Perhaps it was the still and seeking air that slithered to his attention. The morning light filtered through the open hallways in its pale and dry state, siding a horde of students in their journey to the lockers that lined the sides of the corridor.

Among the students was Io—picking his way through the morning mass of prey to his tiny locker; and even then, when this had been achieved, he had to wait for the person whose locker was above his to take their books. And in the process his shoe was stepped on twice, apologized to thrice, and his shoulder bumped an equal amount of times.

With the way things were progressing (and the crowd appearing not to thin in the slightest), Io figured that he was most probably going to be late.

This, in fact, did not sound comforting at all especially since Pipa wasn't here to put their minds together and recall the routes to their assigned venues. Which would most likely result in the exacerbation of this matter.