Glimpse

Ashamol C. B.

Anyone who passed that street would notice the colourful house with the beautiful garden and the big cross hanging above the door of the house. The family that lived there were devoted Christians, always ready to help and serve anyone in need. They had four children, all brought up according to the Holy Bible, living a life pleasing both God and men.

Except one.

The door of the house was opened mercilessly. Dressed in a black leather jacket, black pants and black heels, came out Ashamol; preferred to be known as Ash.

Clutching her helmet in one hand, she looked at the cross and spat on the ground; a daily ritual for her. She obviously didn't share the same beliefs as her family. Religion, she believed, was for cowards.

She got on her motor-bike. She made the engine roar to life, filling the otherwise quiet streets with the thunderous noise. It was ear-splitting, alerting everyone of the arrival of her highness.

Men and women, boys and girls, adults and children, all stared alike when she rode with the air of a queen. She knew they were staring. She knew those stares were either of jealousy, admiration or awe.

Hearing the sound of the bike approaching, the school-guard opened the closed gates. The gates close at 9 am, after the first bell; its 10.15 now. But, he knew better than to mess with the wild girl who spoke less but did much.

She entered the school gates and parked her bike right in front of her classroom. She could park her bike anywhere she liked because no one dared question her. Even the principal had learned his lesson long time ago. He had given up his mission of disciplining her with the hopeful assurance that she would never hurt other people.

That is, unless you play too close to the fire.

Getting off her bike, she walked towards her class. She unzipped her jacket, revealing a 'controversial' shirt. She knew it helped keep the majority away; less nuisance.

She entered her classroom. The teachers never bothered asking her reasons for her usual delay.

She sat down in the last row; always reserved for her.

The girls gave her judgemental looks and whispered among themselves but knew from experience to never go beyond. Chris Thomson gave her his ever-popular smirk that apparently makes girls melt. She stuck her middle finger at him.

Class went on. They had an assignment on the latest school-shootings or something like that. The teacher was assigning people into pairs, reading out names from the list in her hand.

"I'll work with Jameson", she announced. All eyes turned towards her. The teacher looked as if she were in a state of disbelief.

Jameson looked horrified; his eyes grew wide and jaw dropped. She smiled at him, trying to be friendly; didn't work. His friends were patting his back, sniggering. He turned his attention back to the teacher for he knew better than to disagree.

After a few seconds of silence, the teacher said "Okay. Thank you", glad, but still shocked, to have her involvement in the classroom.

The teacher looked surprised; maybe shocked. Then, she smiled in appreciation; Ash was finally showing interest in studies.

Ash slouched in her seat and put her feet on the table. She decided to listen to today's lesson.

'...killing 180 students and 3 passer-bys. It is said to be the most brutal and cruel...' the teacher went on.

Slowly, boredom crept in and her eyes travelled across the class. They rested on the back of Jameson's head. She smirked.

Jameson was what the society would call, 'a good responsible boy'. He had good grades in school; good in sports too, polite towards elders. In short, he was every parent's dream child. But, he wasn't so impressive to Ash.

The other day, when she had passed one of her sisters' room, she heard sobbing sounds from inside. She walked in to her siblings trying to comfort a very distressed younger sister.

Ash didn't know how to comfort or give hope or any of those junk. So, she just stood there near her crying sister.Her eyes caught a wrinkled piece of paper lying unwanted on the floor. She read it.

Red angry flames had lit up inside her. She clenched her fist tightly. Boiling blood had rushed throughout her body.

Thinking about it now, her face flushed red with anger. Just like the rest, she thought about Jameson, a hypocrite. She remembered the hopeful look on all her siblings' faces when they realised that she, the fiercely protective one, had finished reading that wretched heart-breaking letter.

Her siblings trusted her to take good care of this case.

And she will; to the best of her abilities.

Ah, beware Jameson!