Her hair was a bright auburn in the light of the sun, cascading over her shoulders to hug close the curves of her figure. She smiled and laughed, her eyes bright with good cheer, her cheeks red rose against the porcelain of her delicate skin.
He noticed everything about her, not merely the features that were open for all to see, but those little nuances of her physical character that he believed were his alone. The way she tossed her hair out of her face with a look of mock-exasperation touching her features. The little way that she had of falling into moments of deep thought, dead to the world, yet a half smile remaining upon her lips as if at some untold joke that was known only to her.
Sometimes he felt he could understand that joke.
The bell rang, and he was jolted unceremoniously from his reverie. He looked about him at the hundreds of anonymous students making their way into the cafeteria, the sounds of their steps uneven, and yet oddly rhythmic. Joining in, he shook the final tatters of his fantasy from his mind, though still snuck glimpses of her as he moved with the crowd – his nameless beauty.
Served on a tray that had seen better days was a substance that just barely qualified as food, a grey-green mush of sorts, touted as "Mash" by the culinary masters behind the plastic sneeze-protectors. Rather than digging in voraciously as many of his fellows, he toyed with the food, idly twirling a fork. At 5"9, he was average in almost every way. Though he never did excel at anything, neither was he particularly lacking in any area. "Just average"; the catch-cry of his existence.
Yet there was one thing that he believed did single him out – his dreams. He fantasized about other places, of freedom, contentment. He slipped into a world of fantasy with ease, and he considered it a blessing. He spent many hours wondering if any of these people, his compatriots in this ant farm, ever did the same, for though he liked the concept of its uniqueness, it was nonetheless a uniqueness he would be delighted to share.
Sighing disconsolately, he began to fork the "Mash" into his mouth, barely raising his eyes from the tray in front of him. He had long since given up on having any form of meaningful conversation in these enforced lunch hours, and merely gave himself the sustenance necessary to survive the rest of the day. And the day after that. And the day after that.
Routine can be broken.
Later he could not remember which came first, the reverberating shot or the screams. His head darted up from his plate, yet he could see nothing for all the people standing and attempting to push through one another towards any exit. His instincts took over, and he found himself running full-pelt to the door, skidding into the corridor as the screams rising again in a cacophony of wailing. Shots began to fire more rapidly, and the screams rose to a crescendo.
Running down the hall, he heard the door he had burst through before being opened violently, and he quickly spun to the nearest stairwell, belting up the stairs, his breathing ragged.
Spinning on his heel, he ran directly into someone standing stock-still on the stairs, bowling them both over. He sat down hard on the floor, afraid to breathe, his heart beating out of his chest. But it was her. Staring at him in a state of shock and with an utter lack of recognition, she seemed further traumatized by the recognition that must have shone in his eyes.
Thinking quickly, he whispered hoarsely,
"Please, you have to get up; we have to find somewhere safe!" The word "safe" appeared to jolt her, as she flew to her feet, and began to follow him once more up the winding stairs.
Standing at the second level, all that was noticeable was the faraway screams of fear and pain, yet no immediate danger. Most must have run to safety in the adjoining buildings to the first floor, he thought idly, all the while looking for some safe haven of their own. And yet even in these moments of panic, as fear raced through his body entwined with grief for those he was helpless to aid, it was infused with a sense of wonder that she would be here with him. It was as if the colours of life had broken through the gray haze of routine like sun rays through the morning pall.
"Please hide...please hide..." He could now hear her faintly whispering to him, though he could assume it was as much a request for her own body to find the will to go on. His eyes darting, he suddenly saw their safe haven. It verily glowed in the sheen of the corridors – He ran haggardly for it with her in tow, his hand lightly grasping hers as one would a rare bird.
Time seemed to cease to exist in the janitor's closet. Just enough light slipped through the cracks around the door to illuminate their faces, but it was a dead world. He found himself wondering in the silence whether he had in fact been shot in the first barrage, and this was death – yet the sound of sobbing quickly dispelled that notion.
