Hello again! Straight from the holidays and school's been hectic already. Good thing I managed to find some time with writing and stuffs. Anyway, I'm not really sure how this one's gonna go. Yes, I was inspired to do this by our History lesson about Machiavelli (really cool dude). Not sure if Dino went to a university though-I suppose he had private tutors, or something, but yeah, read on! :)
I stared at the sleek elevator doors for five more seconds before I finally decided to talk to her.
"Class was fun earlier, huh?" I said, referring to the one class I shared with her on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
"It was." Her voice was low and melancholy, but I could see her eyes coming to life even for just a little bit.
"I remember that thing you said."
She blinked, but not a hint of emotion in her face. "Which one?"
"About Machiavelli."
Her face lit up. "Oh."
The doors slid open but only the cool December air greeted us. We looked at each other for a moment, then shrugged; the doors once again sliding shut.
I stuffed my hands in my pocket.
"So you really agree with Machiavelli? About the leadership thing?"
I looked at her from the very corner of my eye. The light, unexpected smile on her lips betrayed the fact that she was anticipating the question.
"He could be right." There wasn't a smile on her face anymore, but her eyes held a serene playfulness in them.
Half a minute or so. This was the longest conversation I've had with her for months.
I egged on. "Well, could be."
She looked at me briefly then smiled again. "Or perhaps Machiavelli was indeed correct," she said, her voice melodious, addictive. "To be a leader, you have to be separated from your emotions; from the human in you. If you let your feelings take over, they cloud your judgment. It's not love that earns the respect of your people; it's fear. That's the only weapon an effective leader could use to make them all bow down."
One minute, and counting. This was a world record.
She paused; perhaps halfheartedly waiting for me to respond in any kind of way. I looked at her calculatedly. She continued.
"Like when you love, you get hurt." A glance. "When you're hurt, you make irrational decisions."
I turned my head to sneak a glance, and I caught her staring at me. Staring down at her big, dark orbs, I almost didn't hear the pleasant chime of the elevator as the doors slid open slowly. She just stared back. For a second, the world stopped. Her eyes weren't dead anymore. They've become alive with hundreds of unspoken words that I couldn't piece together. She broke the moment with a rare smile.
A genuine one.
I badly wanted to tell her how much I've missed that.
"Merry Christmas," and she was out of the elevator.
I stared at the doors long after they've closed and as the elevator ascended to the top floor leading to the rooftop. There's gonna be lots of booze tonight.
I caught myself smiling before I knew it.
Perhaps The Prince wouldn't be so bad for my Christmas reading list.
