-This is to be the first chapter of a series, so I apologize for the slowish introduction, I had to set the scene-
~The Scrawler~
When is life ever fair? Tom thought to himself sullenly, pretending to listen to the history lecture. When he had been young, his mother had told him to be patient, that good things come to those who wait. Tom wasn't sure he believed that anymore. His entire life seemed to be telling him otherwise.
Those who wait for their food risk not getting any, at least in the university dining hall. Those who wait for the team coach to notice them are ignored. Those who wait for good friends to hang out with will remain alone.
But most importantly, those who wait for the right girl never find her, or anyone for that matter.
It was really getting to Tom. If even a single woman stopped to talk to him, he was certain they would like him. None had ever given him a chance, just the way the waterpolo coach had never given him a chance. He didn't believe women avoided him because of his looks, which he hardly considered bad. He was slightly taller than average, with skin a shade darker than most, a hereditary gift from his mother. His hair was dark brown, matching his eyes. He was simply too shy.
It was ironic really, the way the most likable people were always the shy ones. It might have been funny to Tom were it not that he was the prime example.
"Mr Harrison," Prof. Evans called. "Care to share with us whatever it is you're thinking so deeply about?" Tom snapped back to attention, seeing the old bearded lecturer looking smugly at him.
"N...nothing in particular,sir. Just history."
"Excellent. This is a history lesson after all, please do tell us of your momentous thoughts." It was unfairness again. Here he sat among a class of apes, and yet the sour old man wanted to pick on him, who was rather academic.
"Oh...Of course, sir. I was just wondering about the difference between the French classes during the revolution."
Not very original, but it forced Evans to begin talking about it, and he left Tom alone for the last twenty minutes.
Tom spent to the time staring at Emma Harrow. She was the same age as him, 22, and was the subject of almost all his fantasies. She wasn't the most popular girl, definitely not one of the inner circle who all dated rugby players.
Today she was wearing tight jeans and sneakers, with a blue shirt poking out from beneath a navy blue jersey. None of her breasts were visible, covered by the jersey, but Tom could see the well rounded lumps.
Her hair was light brown, and short compared to most other women, only just hanging over her ears, giving her an innocent and youngish appearance, enhanced by her bright green eyes. Tom had heard the other men speak about her, and decide that she must be a lesbian. Why else would she cut her hair short, and she hadn't had a boyfriend since coming to the university. Tom desperately hoped she was not a lesbian.
Us usual he imagined how he would approach her confidently and sweep her off her feet with his charms. She would fall madly in love with him and they would live happily ever after, content in their own company. And of course there would be amazing sex. That was the main part of Tom's fantasy, but whenever he finished daydreaming, reality would return, and he would know deep down that it would never happen, since he would never approach her.
After the lecture was over, Tom left and began the walk back to the Residence. Some people had scooters or motorcycles, but Wendall Harrison was not that generous. Tom had begged, and his mother, Marie had agreed, but her husband wouldn't hear of it.
It wasn't a very long walk, but the lecture venues were at the top of the hill, so the morning walk was pure torture. He had gravity on his side on the way home now though, so it only took ten minutes.
The Residence was an ugly building to say the least. It was almost entirely square, 4 storeys tall, and painted grey, of all colours. It made the home of nearly 100 students look like a prison crossed with a tenement. Of the people who lived there, Tom rarely saw them except at meals. His room, was on the second floor, with the other second years. His actually room was surprisingly nice though, compared to the rest of the Residence. Certain privileges came with each year spent at the university, rewarding Tom with a double bed, an end table and a wardrobe that could actually fit his clothes and other belongings.
As he threw down his books, Tom checked his watch, and noticed that supper was in half an hour. As soon as he lay down though, he decided not to go, being too comfortable to care. That was one thing which didn't improve with each year; the food. It was definitely not something he would get up for.
Outside his thin walls, the other students were making a racket as usual. Laughing like hooligans and banging on walls to make boorish beats to dance with.
When Tom had first come here, it actually scared him, all the noise and craziness. He was past that now, though the constant din still grated. From the noise, he could make out Mark Sully's voice, a big rugby player who may as well have set up his bed in the university gym. There was also Donovan Finn, who reckoned his art was world standard. He had once painted Tom's face while he slept, to make him look like he had a massive black mustache. Will Nichols had almost been a friend to Tom at first, but he didn't want to be excluded from the group, so he began ignoring Tom and joining in the 'fun'. There was the whiny voice of Andrew Fleming among them too, and Peter Jerry, who told everyone to call him 'Concrete Pete'.
Tom didn't hate his dormitory mates, though he wasn't too fond of any of them either. What he hated, was not being able to be a part of the group. It wasn't even because he was excluded, it was his fault, and the knowledge cut deep. He had no idea how to socialize with these people. When it came to it, he simply didn't know what to say to them. Not even the kindest bunch of people ever really want to hang around with a person who doesn't speak. Some people complained about not being able to talk to girls, but Tom couldn't speak with anyone.
Turning over and covering his head with a pillow, Tom wished that it was not Monday. Had it been Friday or even Thursday, his dorm mates would have left for the Rook and Crow, the local bar. Mondays though, they stayed here.
He lay there and tried to fall asleep by distracting himself from the noise. Someone had turned up their stereo now though, blasting beats which shook Tom's bed. It took even more effort than usual to fall asleep, he had to call up images of everything from sheep to the girls he fancied most. At last he fell asleep, imagining Emma again.
***
As soon as the dream materialized, Tom knew something was amiss, simply because he knew instantly that it was a dream. He was in a place he recognized, the university behind him, and ahead was High Street, strangely empty for the main road. He looked around more thoroughly, searching for people, but not a soul was too be seen.
All of a sudden he felt a presence. It was an incredibly alien sensation. He didn't hear or see or even smell anyone coming, but he felt it all the same. What's more, the presence seemed powerful, very powerful. Instinctively Tom knew that should he try and defy that presence, it could crush him like a bug.
Tom tried to run, escape the all-powerful being approaching him, but couldn't. Suddenly panicking, he wondered if he'd been paralyzed, but quickly decided against that explanation. It didn't feel as if he was frozen, it felt as though...he was acting in a play, and in this scene he was meant to remain still.
As Tom stood there, movement suddenly caught his eye. All along the street people appeared. Literally dozens of people simply faded into existence. Before he could ponder this new occurrence though, a new sensation spread through his body. It felt like iced water had been poured over him, spreading throughout. He looked down, and realized with a jolt that he was changing.
Before his eyes, his ordinary jeans and T-shirt became beige trousers and a collared shirt. When the feeling washed over his face, Tom reached up to touch his features, only to feel a beard there.
What the fuck! He thought. I'm an old man.
Again he didn't have time to pause and think about his situation, as he sensed the presence draw near. He looked around...and saw Emma Harrow walk around the corner. She was wearing the same clothes as before, except now she carried a small handbag as well.
"Professor Evans," She said. "I was just looking for you." Tom suddenly realised that she was talking to him. He was Prof. Evans. What was even more surprising though, was when he replied.
