DARK DEEDS

01

THE SEASON OF AUTUMN came with the wind. That wind swept across Italy like the angel of death.

It then laid to rest upon the wet soil a bed of leaves which cascaded from the trees down to their ruin under the feet of mere senior students like me.

We flock to our damnation that is the examination in the hall hours before time.

There is a monotonous melancholic mood about the air — it worsens as we mount the stone-cemented staircase.

“You know — It scares me to think about the fact that our hopes and dreams rest in the hands of a man we do not even know outside the confines of the classroom.” My best friend Isabella breaks the silence with her words.

“From what I heard—” A classmate besides us chimes into the conversation “—The man made his own wife fail and repeat the course thrice if not four times.”

“Did she pass in the end?” Isabella leans in.

“No — she committed suicide in the end.” The classmate responds.

The people around us stare at her in shock — some even bombard her with questions. Isabella is about to do the same when I pull her from the crowd.

She does not seem to mind as much as she is scared.

For a moment she stares out onto the lawns that present themselves over the balcony where we lean.

Her voice comes out small. “If he can do that to his own wife — who he had an actual emotional connection to — what more can he do to us whose names he does not even care to know?”

“Come on Isabella. You of all people could not have fallen for the sensationalism of a literature student high on weed and wuthering heights.”

“What if it is more than sensationalism?”

“Then too bad for his wife. We are not her and we can never be her. We have a plan.” I make that as clear as can be but she still has her doubts.

“What if our plan fails? And if our plan fails — we fail and I cannot afford to fail Carina.

It would mean all the sweat and tears I have shed to pursue Journalism were for nothing!”

Just as I am about to respond, an older man opens the door to the hall. “Make three lines. STEM students in the 1st line, Literature and Journalism students in the 2nd line and the rest fall in the 3rd line.”

That is how Isabella and I separate but not before I whisper. “Remember the plan.”

I stand in the 1st line with the other STEM students and we all seem to think the same. One of the classmates decides to speak their mind — “It makes no sense how we have to take philosophy with the rest of these literature losers when we could be doing things relevant to our studies.”

I know that voice. In fact I would know it even amid a choir of chaos. It is his voice — Ricco.

I freeze in place and I remain in that position until it is time for me to be searched. The search is quick and I am thankful for that.

The last person I want to see before the exam is the idiot that caused me severe heartache.

I let out a breath of relief once I am let in. I do not even look back — I instead focus on the plan and head for the seats next to the journalism students.

Isabella finds me there and takes a seat next to me. I smile but the smile is short lived when Ricco takes a seat behind us.

Isabella looks to me and I know what she thinks — Ricco shall without a doubt snitch on us. I mouth — “But we have no choice.”