Chapter Three

14 5 5
                                    


~ Of pain you could wish only one thing: that it should stop. Nothing in the world was so bad as physical pain. In the face of pain there are no heroes.

Chapter Three

"Das, buddy, it's been ages!" I greeted as I crept up behind him, since his back was to the entrance of the library, and jolted him after I placed my hands on either of his shoulders. He jumped on his seat and clutched his chest while the pen went flying across the table, rolling onto the floor. His rectangular, black rimmed glasses slid down to the bottom of his nose.

A few others from neighbouring tables glanced our way due to the sudden loudness of my voice.

"You scared the crap out of me," he sighed.

I took the seat opposite him and picked up his pen. I emptied out my bag and placed a few lined papers in front of me.

"I didn't think it was physically possible for you to get any darker." I put on my best shocked face.

"Really? The sun has been out a lot lately" He took my comment too seriously, mumbling more to himself.

"I was teasing, I told you not to take anything I say to heart. It's easy to make fun of you," I laughed slightly louder than I intended to. I went on to explain, "I haven't seen you in such a long time, so I had to greet you in a way that would make an impression."

"You've made your impression, a while ago in fact," he admitted, turning back to the book he was reading. The reflection on his glasses from the light blocked his dark brown eyes from my view. They were so dark, that when I first met him I thought they were black, but it's humanly impossible to have black eyes. He had slight stubble over his cheeks and chin, with his moustache slightly longer. His black hair was short and a few strands slightly brushed his forehead.

I had found out, well more like had to guess, where he was originally from on the first day we met back in sixth form. I was correct on my second guess, going for the Asian continent. Sri Lanka: that's where he is from. He was the first I had met. It was after we were accepted into our first choice universities did I find out that he was going to the same one as mine, so I've known him for almost three years.

"Oh, right. That Angel stuff, how did you even come up with that?" I remembered the way he had described me. I pulled out my pen and opened up one of the books I had borrowed from the library, to help me with my assignment, at a random page.

"Because in a sense you are pure but you feel not so pure. You don't strike me as a sinner, like, you are virtuous and sweet. Although, deep down you don't acknowledge it due to stuff you may have experienced. History wise." He answered all that without even glancing up from the book once.

"Me? Pure?" I snorted, biting on the end of the pen. To be honest, I was quite flattered with the description.

"Go on then, tell me how the fire thing relates to you?" This time he did look up and stared directly into my eyes. It was as if he was challenging me, as if he wouldn't believe anything I was going to say anyway, but was curious.

He raised an eyebrow when I hadn't said anything.

I sighed. "You know what it is? You know one of those friendly fires, like a little bonfire? Flames all dancing about; it starts off beautiful, captivating even, but then it goes out of control and burns the whole forest down." I took a deep breath after that and averted my eyes away from his and onto the book I had opened up.

"Hmm, I can see that. But I feel as though you'd only burn everything to protect yourself." When I turned back to him he was looking back at his book, writing notes down on a piece of paper next to it. It was as if he didn't have to think about anything he was saying and he genuinely believed in them.

Within The FlamesWhere stories live. Discover now