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Sixteen

Author: reeswift
last update Last Updated: 2024-10-29 19:42:56
c a t h e r i n e

We were utterly quiet in class. For everyone, it was a surprise to see Vernon back in the classroom. To me, it was rather tormenting.

I couldn’t get myself to comprehend what the teacher was saying. Vernon’s dark façade on the corner of the classroom kept on stealing my attention.

He was sitting beside the window. The gloomy skies before him heightened his apathetic air. Just like that. I couldn’t see anything else. It was just him, the rain, and how they perfectly sync. How both looked sad yet comforting. I never thought something so sullen could also feel like salvation. He was hail, and blizzard, and hurricane, and all things sad and scary. He was a personification of gloomy weather.

He was a bad omen, it gives most people a shiver down their spine and drives them away-- to a safer path. But I like danger. I like sadness. I like the snowfall and the treacherous roads. I like all the metaphors he embodies.

And so I brought the ink of my pen to my paper, and
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    c a t h e r i n e He got suspended. I saw how he felt ashamed about admitting it, and I felt guilty. Before he even had to explain, I already knew the reason for it. "Was it because of me?" I asked the obvious. Vernon quickly shook his head. He tried to act nonchalant but it came out as a struggle. Beneath his hazel brown eyes was the concealed dismay, and perhaps, the overbearing sadness. Funny how I read him now. Days before, I would have a hard time comprehending his emotions which were always unforeseeable behind his high walls. Strangely, we've come to this point--that it was just a number of days yet it felt long enough to know him. And I’ve come to this point where I could no longer care less. It’s almost as if it was inevitable for us to be this close.

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    c a t h e r i n e In my attempt to understand his sudden impassivity, my gaze lingered on the resurrection of Vernon's ice-cold facąde. He seemed a master of putting on and off the mask of joy and apathy, I noticed that too well. It seemed to me as though such emotions are nothing but accessories which he'd purposely display on chosen occasions. Right now, his air of playfulness has vanished and so is the tricky grins and the sardonic humor. He stood across me still, his expression fixed firmly for the coldness he was trying to mask. The late sun rays from the Victorian windows shadowed Vernon's face in bastard amber. Amid how serene it was supposed to look, he feigned his austerity. His hard expression, a reflection of the customary warmth gone faster than the dying sun in the late afternoon. I could have forced him to be honest but I remained mute opposite to him. How is he like this? One moment, he’s all jokes and flirting, but in situations like this where I am purposely try

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