Red cinnamon with dots of fire
Veiled in the rosy brier
I shall pick you, take you in
And come to terms with my own sin

Raven-blessed and torn of flesh
Filthy, beaten, rotten mess
Quick of wit and burnt of choice
Now I speak some other's voice

An engineer. How quaint.

I suppose it was to be suspected; with how often I saw him tinkering with his bike across the street, it was less a surprise and more of an inevitability. Sad, really. He could have been anything, the world was open to him, and he chose such a lackluster profession to strive towards. Well, I suppose it is a tad more than my own choice...or, well, my own fate. For what little choice did I have in it?

Here I sit, taking in the knowledge my teachers put forth as I stir in an educational limbo. And one day soon, I will be sent into the world to be something. How easy they make it sound, to be something, to go somewhere and live a life on my own. Am I not already on my own? With Mother gone, and Father in his eternal midnight play date with a job or something more suggestive, I am left to the house. To my own bidding. Tainted by the occasional beration when my careful hands still leave the handle of his precious 'equipment' in just barely the wrong position. Or, perhaps, I manage to brush against an object, leaving it out of place, just the slightest bit. Enough to irk him. Enough to draw his ever-present ire.

No, I am alone now, but what will do I have to further my life? As the teachers spouts drivel about some mathematical equation I'm already quite familiar with, I am left here to ponder these things. I think, at times...what will happen, when the time comes? When the cap is donned, the robes drawn around me, and I am handed that final piece of evidence of my education? I don't believe it will be anything special. No one will be there for me, and it will mean nothing. Perhaps when I come home, there will be a note. Or the chance call, though I'd honestly doubt anyone would tell her of the occasion.

I'll be given an ultimatum, some day. And I'll have to find somewhere to go. But that, is some day. Not now. For now, I'll walk the school as Father does his house. I shall invoke fear, and therefore respect. No one will question me, and that will be for the best.

Though it appears, much to my misfortune, Kevin has decided to inquire. To query is a wondrous thing, but I'd prefer to be left in the shadows. And yet, I write such foolish things, knowing he would be the one to read my paper. Would he speak? No, he would likely tremble himself to a magnitude of his own before that happened. It was simply an inconvenience, forced upon me by Marie.

She does mean a lot to me, I suppose. In a platonic way. We did try a dalliance once, to no effect. It appears I've no interest in her as she has in me. She believes there's more to it, but I don't particularly care. I try not to think of the forceful way her tongue invaded my lips, her own cracked and split. She is a beautiful girl, truly, but I believe a little chapstick and hesitation would do her well. I told her as much. She did not seem amused.

We tried to do more, even. I allowed it, more out of scientific curiosity than actual interest. Sadly, we could not go far, as she could not tease me above a flaccid state. Her irritation was rather cute, it drove me to laugh, almost. Would that I could.

I often see him in the hallways now. I took little note of him in the past, he was merely a specimen in the petri dish that was school. Now, I noticed the way he looked at me...or didn't. I try not to be noticed, if I can help it. When you blend in, it's difficult for people to single you out. I chose when to be noticed, and by who. It's funny, how many little corners you can find to hide in when you truly look.

And, by pure happenstance, I found myself in his vicinity later in the day as the two giant children decided to play their games with him. Perhaps, once upon a time, each could have been an upstanding member of society, in his or her own way. Instead, they resorted fool's tactics and the weaponry of fear. Something must have happened to Johnny; there was a time when he was kind, I've heard. Then, in the bat of an eye, he changed. Whatever happened, the child turned down a dark path, and it's rather a shame. Jamison, on the other hand, had a very obvious influence - his adoring father, pressuring him to become someone great. The imperfect child playing pretend at being perfect; strong, quiet, masculine. I'm not certain he even believes it himself, but he sure puts on a good show.

Kevin...have I not already discussed him? I suppose, knowing what I do now, his entire personality is based around the trappings of fear. Hence, bullies are pulled to him from afar, like moths to a light in the witching hour. One bit of resistance, and perhaps the children would back off. But no, he allows them bat against him, he does their bidding, and then, he allows himself to be walked over like a worn dirt road. There is so much potential in him...but he is so webbed-in by fear, there's no way to free him from the trap he's set for himself. Thus, I merely stand here, past two corners at a peculiar angle, watching the scene unfold.

Ah, he didn't have time to see them until now, it appears. How unfortunate, but he shouldn't be doing their homework in the first place. Is that...a book? Not from our English class, nor theirs, so it must be his from home. Oh, yes, jump and try to get it, that's obviously not what they're trying to make you do, Little Red. Oh...and now the piece of wood speaks, joy. Is that a...

Sigh.

"Now now, Johnathan. You wouldn't want to get detention again, now would you? Put that down; you know as well as I that the smoke alarms trigger on a dime, and you'd be caught red-handed, so-to-speak." For I'm doubtful most children carry a fire engine red lighter in their pocket at all times. But, I suppose we all have our vices.

"Huh? Plank, why didn't you think of that?" Because he is you, and you've little more intelligence than he does, cher. Jamison appeared unamused. Is that unusual? No, I imagine he was merely along for the ride.

"Now run along you two, I shall resolve the matter here." I was sent a steely glare from the 'supposedly' threatening Jamison, and Johnny appeared confused.

"But you don't even know what..." I looked at Johnny with a condescending glare of my own, Jamison's own glare paling in comparison. It is hard to make one fear when one isn't at all familiar with the topic. Hence, it was hard for others to top me when it came to intimidation.

He said some...'words' to himself, or possibly to Plank, as he departed. Jamison followed. I suppose he found that having the crazy, frightening boy on your good side was something worthwhile during high school. I pitied him, honestly.

"Th...thanks," the words stumbled out beside me. I turned to Kevin, who was looking carefully at his book, still scared out of his wits, apparently. It was unfortunate; it was his wits that I liked. ...not that I cared for him in the slightest.

"I'd rather not see a book of any sort aflame. That, and I was not particularly interested in departing the school on such an unpleasant day." Why was I talking to him? He was beneath me. I suppose Marie infected me with a bug of some sort, something must have been making my mind hazy. There really was no logic in this.

"Yeah...but, uh...really, thanks though. This book means a lot to me...I mean, they all do, but..."

"You need to stand up for yourself, mon petit. They shall come back, and I will not always be here." His shoulders fell, and he looked to the floor. The halls were empty, the school day having ended minutes ago. And, unfortunately for me, I had nowhere to go, no excuses. Though I could easily make one up, I had no desire to lie to someone so fearful of the mere truth. What would become of him if he began to believe my lies? Let him keep his truths...perhaps one person will see me besides Marie. How sad, this life I live.

"I know...I'm..." He gulped, and stopped. My eyes narrowed on him, and he froze.

"Parles," I urged him on. Of course, he didn't understand me, but I managed to get the message across somehow.

"I'm...honestly as afraid of you as I am of them," he spoke, as if that would have been a surprise to me. However, I congratulate you for gathering the courage to say such a thing to your predator, Little Red.

"As you should be. It is wise to fear those wiser than you." That plucked a nerve on him, it appeared.

"Hey, I've been on this planet just as long as you, you can't say you're smarter than me!" Quite a fuss you're causing, mon cher...it's intriguing to see you like this, even if you shall be prey again on the morrow.

"Ah, but I can, and I did. I am not only smarter by way of 'book smarts,' I also have you beaten when it comes to simple human knowledge. Such as knowing that Jamison is nothing but a tool, and Johnny will only bother you so long as you react." He seemed pensive after that one. Good, let him think for once.

"...But, you aren't me."

"No, mon cher, I am not. Nor are you, me. You're destined for a bland, but stable, life, where-as my day-to-day is in flux every time I walk into my own home." I've been thinking too much today. I should be speaking to Marie about all this, instead of him. Where was she, anyways?

Then, out of nowhere, he spoke something seemingly unrelated.

"You...you don't really want to kill yourself, do you?" I imagined that was what he pondered when he read my essay earlier in the day. I'm surprised he managed to entice that detail from my written work at all. It's...a tad worrying. I didn't underestimate him, I...I suppose I didn't care, honestly. If someone like him knew, that is. Maybe, in the case I disappear on the eventide, I'll have another flower at my funeral.

I decided to merely shrug it off.

"Have a pleasant evening, Little Red." I wasn't sure why my tongue was so shamefully loose, but I needed to cut it before it waggled free and bled me out, useless thing.

"...Umm...good night, Eddward."

As I walked away, the strangest thing happened. In the back of my mind, the memory of my mother played, the only one to ever wish me such a tiding. Even Marie never said it, always a 'later.' Perhaps it was her knowledge of this fact, about my mother. But either way, as I walked towards the stairs in the dim hallway lighting, the sky overcast outside, I felt my face warm. A fever, perhaps. A strangely nice one, but occasionally illnesses could present in such ways. I could ask Marie to check my temperature later, goodness knows where she placed it last time she was sick at my home. That girl might as well be my sister, for all the times we shared my house.

Turning to the stairs, the corner of my eye caught him, still standing there at his locker. He appeared to be looking my way, but despite the distance I had put between us, I didn't want him to know I so-much as noticed him. Let the world think you're blind, and you can see the world. That is one of few games I play.

But now, home. Perhaps rest, and a jasmine tea. And a good book...I wonder if the one he held was any good. One day, perhaps, I could obtain and read it, if I put my mind to it.

Ha.

That will be the day.

I did plan to keep to essay bits, but...Eddward wrote a poem, and I had to put it somewhere. Blame him, heh. Enjoy!