The morning bell rung again, and I reluctantly ripped my eyes away from the back of the most gorgeous man in the world (which was something to look at, believe me), and dragged myself down the hall to my first class. Link was my idol, my star, and always the center of my multiple fantasies. He had an air of stoicism about him, and he looked like, at any moment, he could strap a sword onto his back and canter off into the sunset on his noble steed. Mainly, he was just extremely good looking (to me at least), but I don't want to seem shallow; there are many reasons I'm drawn to the aloof, moody blonde. For instance, the way he swipes his bangs aside with a graceful move of his hand, or the way his laugh has a deep, resounding bell tone to it, or the way he sometimes stares at the floor tiles, face contorted and unseeing, while his cerulean blue eyes sparkle with a strange sadness, almost as if he misses someone or something so much that it hurts him physically. I wish that I could continue with my morning monologue (produced solely to drown out my history teacher) and go on to explain our many adventures together, the way he tells me his deepest secrets, and the way that we spend each and every day together, because, in my fantasies, we do, and much more…… But unfortunately, that would all be a big, fat, sparkling, beautiful, euphoric lie. Truthfully, I've only spoken to my hero (yes, I call him my hero) twice, one conversation of which consisted of a casual, "Hey," exchanged between us, and another which consisted of only eye contact, but is still counted as a conversation to me (his eyes looked like they were saying hello……).I spend my days in a daze, catching glimpses of him whenever I can, and usually staring like the gay, love struck teenager that I am. Sometimes he looks my way, but as far as I can tell, he's never noticed my unhealthy little obsession, and even if he had, I'm sure he wouldn't give a hoot, unless he was super homophobic and he decided to beat the shit out of me for fantasizing far beyond what is appropriate. *Sigh* any attention from him though, in my book, would be a blessing from the goddesses.
"Mr. Heart! Are you paying attention yet!?"
My head snapped up as I realized Mr. Gillespie had probably been calling my name a few times more than I'd heard, so I settled on blinking and feigning waking up from a nap.
"W-whatttt Mr. Gill-llespie…….?" I muttered in a very convincing, tired drawl. Unfortunately Mr. Gillespie acted accordingly and slapped me on the head with a rolled up atlas (which are quite painful when swung downwards with the amount of force that my teacher seems to approve of). I grimaced but blinked sheepishly again, waiting for the sermon.
"Mr. Heart, I warned you before, but you don't seem to have the aptitude to adhere to normal common sense, that's the fifth time this week, and five makes-"
"I know, I know," I interjected, "Five makes the principles office, yah, yah, I'm on my way."
Mr. Gillespie's face turned a strange shade of purple and he started shouting in a very unattractive and unprofessional mannerism, while spittle flew from his lips like mini rockets taking off, only to crash land on my surrounding classmates. I grabbed my book bag and huffed it out the door, a small smirk turning my lips up as I inwardly enjoyed the knowledge that such small comments on my part could invoke such rage on his part. Right before slipping out the door I spun to face Mr. Gillespie, and in my sincerest voice wished him a nice day; then I ran.
I don't think that Mr. Gillespie has ever associated with our school's principle, because if he had, he would be acutely aware of the fact that I've never once gone to the principles office, ever. Instead, I would head to the roof, or find a nice quiet nook in the hallway to pull out my sketch pad and earphones, or a good book. School was much too long, and waaaaaaaay not worth my time. I can't do math or science, I hate anything to do with memorizing, and English didn't require my attention; art was the only thing out there for me, and, unfortunately, they didn't even offer that at my school. Hence my conclusion; I don't need to go to school. My mom doesn't really agree with that though, so, here I am; grade A skipper!
Ever notice that life sucks? Now, I'm not usually a pessimistic person, but when someone tries to send you seven years back in time so that you can have your childhood back, but screws up and sends you 700 years into the future all alone, it can kinda warp your outlook on life a bit. That's right, 700 years! If there's one thing I dearly desire in this world, it's a good three hours of alone time with her majesty princess Zelda and that crazy electric energy Ganondorf uses.
Dwelling on it only brings sadness though; I miss Hyrule, I miss Saria, Epona, and Malon; my home, my entire life was in Hyrule, and now, I have to settle into the scraps of this new cement jungle. I mean, it's not hell, but it's not Hyrule; girls here are stuck up sluts, and guys here are testosterone filled jackasses that wouldn't last ten seconds in a fight with me. It's not that I haven't tried to make friends, I just can't relate to anyone here; I'm not like them, I'm a Hylian and the Hero of Time, this isn't my world, and I don't belong in it. I just wish, even if I can't go back, ever, that I could find someone to relate to, someone who gets me, and who gets life.
I slowly opened my bloodshot eyes from my little nap and stretched my back out. It was probably around noon, and I should have been in math class, but lets face it, I saved the entire country of Hyrule without 'proper education,' so chances I'd actually rely on it in the future were quite slim. Everyone here simply considered me dumb, and I was just fine with that. Currently I'm tired as hell, but that's nothing new; I've never gotten used to the sound of cars outside my apartment window all night, and I probably never will. I had been attempting to take a short nap, and probably would have succeeded if the blaring music coming from the headphones around the corner hadn't woken me up. Whoever that kid was, he was gonna be deaf when he was like….25.
I stood up and yawned, then, rounded the corner to pinpoint the culprit; thief of my sleep. I was a bit surprised by what I saw though; it wasn't another stupid jock skipping, it was a small, skinny boy with long dark hair, head bent intently over a sketch book, music still blaring through a pair of old, over your head and mess up your hair headphones. Whatever he was drawing must have been something precious to him, because there was a small, sweet smile on his lips that reached up into his bright green eyes, giving hi m a look that reminded me of a baby cherub; innocent and loving, without a care in the world. It was a look I never saw here, and it was like a breath of fresh air for me.
After a couple seconds the boy noticed me and slowly looked upwards. I'm not sure why, but a look of shock crossed his face and he jumped up, pulling his headphones out of his MP3, and knocking his sketchbook to the ground.
I bent down to pick up his sketchbook, but his hand flashed out and knocked mine out of the way. He blushed fiercely and mumbled sorry, then darted for the stairwell. I let him go and watched him as he went. He was very small, and could easily be mistaken for a girl from behind; for some reason he intrigued me; not enough to go after him, but enough to ponder what he was drawing as I settled again into my afternoon nap. Right before I let myself drift into unconsciousness, I had a short, fleeting though; maybe he could be my friend…