Whore of Babylon
A soft scent bounces and weaves across unknown lengths of molecules, sprinting through the ever-cold air of the hallway. It reaches its destination with great trepidation and longing. As the blonde-haired boy deeply inhales the soft, sweet scent of peaches he looks up from his books, looks around at the pulsing mosaic of students around him, and then continues on his way. As he takes his carefully counted steps down the frozen hall, he continues to look down, concentrating for some reason on his macroeconomics book. He reaches eighty-seven steps and turns left into the classroom.
As he takes his seat he notices the soft scent again. Alice-blue eyes close gently and in passing the scent is magnified, intensified until the boy can hardly stand it. As his heart gently sings its mechanical song, his body slows to a soft hum as he deeply inhales the scent and grasps it as long as he can before he sees stars and flashes and is forced to exhale. He enjoys the syrupy smell for at least two minutes before the teacher enters and he opens his eyes to the light. His heart sings its song and his body roars back to life. The fluorescents above him light his Alice-blue iris and Prussian blue scurf rim and he is temporarily blinded.
The teacher is an idiot and no one seems to notice except him.
Every time he enters the labyrinthine halls of the school, he smells the saccharine smell of peaches as if its source is just out of sight. Around one corner. Through one door. He feigns a smile as another boy approaches him and opens his pink lips to reveal a torrent of language raining towards him. "Hey. I feel like I haven't seen you in forever. Where've you been dude?" The speaker waits a reply and the spoken-to looks down nervously. The speaker is pale with raven hair and brown eyes. The spoken-to replies, "Yeah. I've been… around," quietly and then looks from the floor to the fallow eyes of his classmate. This boy smells like sharp wisps of tang, not soft trails of peach.
Young, bright blue eyes slip around the halls, catching on individuals and searching, examining the pulsing culture around him. They are not satisfied, and fall back to the floor.
Outside, hands shift in shade from pink to red, begging to be replaced in their pockets. They are not obliged, as the blonde lights a cigarette in between classes. As the cancer and frigid air alternate chances to inhabit the boys chest, he looks across the arctic scenery, continually searching for the source of the intoxicating scent. Thin bones stretch underneath pale skin on a young man's face, as a hopeless grin is twisted out of chapped lips. After he flicks the cigarette's remains away from himself, he reenters the cold school building.
After class, he follows the streets around like a labyrinth, twisting and turning whenever he pleases. Without the redhead, the one who drove him crazy with his absence, he has no destination. Two years since truth or dare ruined everything. Since the night two hearts were broken with one kiss.
Two years.