Game Theory × NH

060 | neodymium

× Mercury

The third of December was when it started to snow. I didn't know this because outside every window you saw a white sheet on every surface, but because when I first stepped outside, I nearly fell on my ass because a patch of ice lay right outside the door.

Campus was covered in a heavy blanket of snow, like an unfinished painting. So much of the canvas was still white, as if waiting for the artist's hand to return back to the art. Footprints overlapped each other around the labyrinth of paths, the snow hugged the old buildings, icicles the size of tusks hung from the gutters, and the branches of trees drooped low with the burden of snow.

I walked down the shoveled path, the crisp, cold air biting at my skin. Winter in London didn't seem like a wonderland I was hoping. Everything was meek and gray and just plain... wet. The snow was dirty and nothing like you might see out of a children's book or a ski brochure.

The Art Hall was a round building with lots of windows. Over my shoulder I had my mother's camera bag I had found in the attic at Grandma's. Professor Johnson was the photography teacher at Roehampton and I was hoping he could help me figure out how to use it since I knew next to nothing about film.

Inside the building was alive with color and emotion. Paintings of all kinds are hung up on the walls along with charcoal drawings and abstract mosaic pieces. Encased in glass were sculptures from vases to detailed statues. It definitely beat out all the other buildings with creativity, that was for sure.

As I walked down the hall, trying to figure out where the photography section was at, I heard singing down one of the hallways. Theater was probably down that hall, practicing for the upcoming musical.

"Lynn?" someone said from behind me. I turned and saw Thomas, a huge grin on his face. "I haven't seen you in this building before."

"Uh, yeah, I just came to talk to someone. I didn't know you were into art." I said as I noticed a portfolio under his arm.

"Graphic Design is my backup plan," Thomas clarified. "You know, creating logos and photo manipulating. I hope to go into illustration if football doesn't work out for me."

"Backup plan?" I questioned.

Thomas nodded and ran a hand over his buzzed, black hair. "Yeah, if something were to happen, like, if a scout doesn't want me and I don't go professionally or I get injured so I can't play, I can go into something that involves graphic design. Don't you have a backup plan?"

"No," I said, shaking my head slowly. "I'm pretty secure for going professionally; I don't need one."

"Sure, you're golden in that area, but what if you get hurt? Lynn, you almost lost your chance to play again last year with your ankle. Didn't that scare you enough to at least get some kind of degree just in case?"

His words melted into me like the snow the moment it touched my skin. A backup plan had never really occurred to me, and it was honestly stupid of me to not even consider it. Last year did scare me, but I just thought that it wouldn't happen to me again, kind of like getting struck by lightning. But I guess that one park ranger proved that wrong seven other times.

"As much as you might think, you're not invincible," Thomas said.

"I wouldn't even know what degree I would get..." I told him honestly.

"What are you good at? Or what do you like to do?"

I thought for a moment before looking down at the camera in my hand. "Take pictures."