"Silently she sat, crouched into a dark corner as her older brother drew back the rusted blade-"
"Stop!! Stop it, Shuroken! You know that story is too violent for school," their teacher, Mrs. Tirstein, scolded. She stood there, hands on her hips, and stared at the speaker. "This is a school-appropriate story, not one of your little demonic writings!" she screeched, stomping over to his desk and snatching up a black leather-bound journal.
The book in question was adorned with pure white skulls and various Japanese bands and singers. There was seemingly random words in kanji splayed across the dark cover. These symbols formed different phrases; most all having to do with forms of death.
The outraged blond dimwitted teacher dared not to look inside the book that appeared to "leak evil from the very pages that are bound to it". She held it as if just touching it too much or grasping it too firmly would place a curse upon her. She quickly released the book after making sure her point had been placed.
"Now, young man," she struggled with this because she viewed him as the devil incarnate, "you will either rewrite this story so that it fits this school's standards, or you are forced to take yet another F."
Shuroken, the owner of the "cursed book", sighed. He was always treated this way. He was never able to tone down the side of him that spilled into his writing. His creativity has always been stifled by the very people who pledged to allow students to express themselves...within limits. He leaned forward in a bored fashion, allowing his pitch black hair to fall in front of his crystalline eyes, shielding him from the verbal assault of the teacher.
He glared at the oppressive classroom through a crack in his bangs, flashes of icey blue in the midst of crimson-tipped coal. His hairstyle was that of every typical "freak" in America. It was very flat, the bangs hanging below his chin and layering back up to his scalp. Their tips flare and instantly catch the eye due to the red dye creeping upon the edging. Of course this was against school dress-code, but the boy could care less. He didn't mind being written up every day. His parents pumped enough cash into the school that he could do whatever the Hell he wanted.
He actually enjoyed being sent out of the classroom and to the office. Even the principle was scared of him, the child whose parents donated $100,000 dollars a year to their school. Shuroken liked that, as it assured him that he could easily avoid severe punishment.
Shuroken felt a smug smile crease his lips as he walked that familiar route to the principle's office. He'd been going to the principle instead of the counselor ever since the old bird had flown the coop after he had arrived.
His English teacher Mrs. Tirstein had written him up once again for his inability to follow orders and his story's content. He had, of course, added to his trouble by flicking off the class pretty boy, who had sneered a laugh when he was called out. The teacher had scoffed and wrote down his rude behaviour.
The boy sighed softly, running a pale hand through his silky smooth hair. 'This should be a breeze,' he thought, staring blankly at a passing student. The girl quickly looked away, not wanting to stare at him too long. As he continued walking, he felt her eyes scan his body, assuming he wouldn't notice. He did, but could care less.
This always happened; 'popular' or 'normal' people would openly gape at him and whisper all the rumors they had heard. Most were true, but none of that mattered presently.
Shuroken blinked in surprise as he neared the oh-so-familiar office. The dull grey door that was normally sealed shut, for the principle was punishing those students who got caught doing something unethical, was swung open, giving passing students or staff a clear view of the people inside.
Although his placid expression was quickly regained, his curiosity was not stifled. This was surprising, as nothing in this dreadful school interested him. Shuroken wondered as to which student was being reprimanded and for what reason. His unspoken question was answered almost immediately.
In the office of the principle, Mr. Ashford, there was not a student but an adult! It was one Shuro had never seen before, and that was saying something, for the boy had a very phenomenal photographic memory. What was this about? That simple question yearned to pass the boy's lips as he stood outside the open door, trying to listen in on the ongoing conversation.
xXx
"Well, your resume is very intriguing. Your degree in psychology is better than our last counselor," Mr. Ashford noted, reading off of the neatly stacked pile of papers on the desk before him. The unidentifiable adult nodded, the light brown hair bouncing up and down in the slow movement. The hair was either pinned or tied at the back of the head, Shuroken couldn't tell from where he was standing.
'Counselor?' Shuro thought, wondering with a few surprised blinking of his eyes. He leaned his head further in, trying to get a better view of the new counselor. At that single rift in the time continuum Shuroken's life was drastically shifted at unknown angles. The second their eyes met, a spark flared silently, engulfing their entire essences with confusingly familiar energy.
The unknown adult now had a face to go with the brunette hair. His features were obviously Japanese, with just a hint of English in the skin colouration. His creamy soft complexion accentuated his slender figure. The brilliant emerald of his eyes snagged Shuroken's attention like a fly in a fly trap.
Feeling his face flush as the cold of the elder's eyes quickly swept over his frame, Shuro peeled back behind the safety of the wall. He could hear from inside the room "Mr. Craus? Is something the matter?" It was obvious that that elderly principle Mr. Ashford had not noticed the boy's sneak peek.
The responding "No, nothing is wrong. Just thought I had seen something." made a familiar electrifying sensation spread throughout the boy's body as he tried to slow his accelerating heartbeat. The voice was just as silky smooth as the man's light brown hair. Shaking his crimson tipped hair, Shuro stepped further away from the door.
'What was that?' his mind steamed, 'Why did that guy look so... familiar? I've never seen him before!' While these thoughts went brewing around the dark crevices of Shuroken's mind, he obviously missed a vital part of the adults' conversation. What he just heard was "Well, I guess I can start today."