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The classroom was as silent as a grave when Isako shuffled in. Well, I can't help with the morbid similes, she thought. The oppressive silence swept over in a wave. A classroom of teens looked everywhere but her. Slowly, and awkwardly, it was filled in by nervous chit-chat. However, no one was really paying attention to the words of their conversation. She was still sodden from the rain. The little track of puddles led from the door to her desk, which although the same distant apart from any other desk in the room, seemed somehow... separated. Her wet black hair hung over her pretty Aisan face, but she made no effort to sweep it aside. With her disheveled and antisocial appearance, she eloquently conveyed the proper sorrow while simultaneously avoiding human interaction. Isako, under her veil of dripping hair, was fighting back a smile. She was free.
Free to live her own life, said the unwanted little voice in the back of her head, the one who said the things she did not want to hear. Or at least that's what she thought....Her father's life was over but his hold on her was not...
But what would happen now? She's probably be taken in by some obscure aunt or great-uncle. Her father had not appointed a godfather, and the best man at his wedding had been a business associate.
Listen to me! The old man knew, it said. He knew what would happen!
The best thing to do now, certainly, would be to keep the shell-shocked facade temporary. Her father, or rather her governess, had taught her not to show her emotions. A small lapse of protocol, in her grief, would be understandable, and then the snap back to almost no expression: quite respectable.
It's not over! He knew something, and you know it! Its not over!
Isako tapped her fingers on the desk, in an agitated rhythm. She hummed loudly, in her head, a llost little tune patched together from other songs she had heard. Without her consciously realizing it, it slipped into an icily familiar melody. Abruptly she stopped, but it was too late. The song flowed back into her, taunting her. And so when the dark news came She did not feel real greif It was not his love she looked for But a new one i-
I AM A TEAPOT, SHORT AND STOUT! HERE IS MY HANDLE, HERE IS MY SPOUT! She shouted mentrally, using each word as a brick in a wall.
Gizensha Sakugo · Tue Mar 30, 2010 @ 03:13am · 0 Comments |
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