He kept the picture in his pad, enshrined in plastic. And he really had captured her very essence, even more so than a photograph. If tribesmen thought a camera could steal one's soul, they would recoil at what Bradley had accomplished. Every day he watched her, trying to work up the courage to talk to her, to meet her, to show her what he had done. And every day he lost his nerve, scared, horrified of the possibility of rejection.

One bright morning he sat on his bench, the stone now warm beneath his shorts, the flowers in full bloom, filling the quad with colors and life, although not half as much as her smile. He pulled out his art and looked longingly at it as she made her usual way across the quad, this time alone. She was listening to music, and stopped to pick some flowers. Suddenly the notion seized him. This was his chance, this was the time. Gathering every scrap of courage he had inside him, he slung his bag over his shoulder and tucked her picture under his arm as he walked with measured steps to where she squatted, absentmindedly picking some violets blooming in a planter and sticking them in her hair.

He was right there, next to her. He could smell her perfume and it filled him with a sense of wonder, all jasmine and honeysuckle and driving him wild. She seemed to sense him there, and turned to meet his gaze, her luxuriant blonde hair swaying with her motion like golden waterfalls. All his practiced words failed him at that point, and instead he thrust his picture into her hands. She gingerly took it from him and stared, eyes curious, then growing wide with bewilderment. A smile crept across his face. He had done it. She would see how beautiful she was and how artfully he had captured her and...
In a halting motion she popped the earbuds from her perfectly shaped ears and looked at Bradley. Then back at the picture, then back in his eyes.

"You little creep!" She screamed, shattering the grin that had been on his face moments before. "You've been stalking me! I should call the cops you little pervert! They lock people like you up!"
The rage in her eyes was fire, searing Bradley to his core. His lips began to quiver, he could feel the redness and the strain in his eyes as he fought back the revulsion. He couldn't even make out the horrible things she was saying over the pounding of the blood in his ears.

The next thing he knew he was running. The picture was in his hands, a white knuckled grip crumpling the edge of the heavy stock as the wind from his flight made a wippawappawippawappawippa sound. He didn't stop running until he was out of breath, in a place he didn't recognize. An old grove of magnolias and ancient oaks, blocking out most of the sun. The ground here was dark and damp, and the dirt did not puff up as his tears fell, staining the picture and his shoes and the ground around him. In that moment, he felt as if the world was lost. He stared at the drawing. His perfect angel, his goddess. She despised it. In a fit of rage he crumpled it in both hands, balling it up and throwing it at the nearest oak.
The gnarled knots seemed to make a face, understanding his pain. He felt better then, making the long walk back to his dorm...

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Posted by MrTide33

Member since Nov 2012

4353 posts

Posted on 3/3/14 at 10:49 pm to fr33manator

Here it is

quote:
I stood and stared at the building looming before me. If I had known I was going to have to make up my drama quiz here, I probably would have just gone to class Tuesday morning.

The building didn’t fit in with the college’s look. Most of the old buildings have been updated with white-column facades. We joke that the university just tries to stick a white column up wherever it gets the chance. This building must not have been updated since at least the 90s. It was solid, built for use, not for scenery.

I stood at the edge of the path to the building. Even the concrete was older than the concrete on the back quad. The quad’s concrete was a light gray, smooth. The path to the art building was dark and rough. The threshold to another world.

I swallowed and crossed over it.

Nothing really changed, I suppose. I could still see the same familiar buildings all around me, their welcoming facades smiling as if everything was fine. The fountain was still spitting up water in its rhythm, undisturbed by my step into another dimension. Students were still walking to class, or the food court or library; nothing out of the ordinary.

I faced the building again. Another strange thing about the building: it’s built next to a hill, so when you walk to it from my dorm, you actually enter on the second floor. The path becomes a bridge as the ground drops out from underneath you.

I feel like the fall leaves should have been beautiful from this view, but I couldn’t shake my uneasy feeling. Everything about the building makes you feel isolated. I walked toward the door.

It didn’t open into a lobby like you would expect when entering a building from the outside. It entered into a tight hallway that looked more like a high school than a college. I kid you not, the lights were flickering, sending out an unnerving random pulse between bright, fluorescent light and a dim orange, sometimes cutting out completely. The light bathed a dirty tile floor, sheetrock walls, and crumpled old lockers, making the scene feel like a high-school nightmare.

I looked down to make sure I was wearing pants.
Fortunately, this was daytime, and the light from outside was filtering in through a few windows, minimizing the effect of the flickering lights. I peered out and saw that it overlooked a courtyard.

The hall forces you in one direction, so I walked that way, still unsure of where I was supposed to take my quiz. A classroom on my right had been completely painted black: floors, ceiling, seats, everything. A black-box theatre. This would be on my quiz. I quickly walked by and reached a door at the end of the hallway.

The door opened to another hallway, this one with concrete flooring and brick walling, like an outdoor structure might have. The inside wall had tall, narrow gaps, with one bar running horizontally up the middle, giving another view into the courtyard below.

I noticed as I walked on that there was a collage on the wall. It was drawings by some of the art students for Halloween. A zombie with its flesh ripped off in patches revealed bone, muscle and sinew. A spider’s thick, furry legs protruded from an eyelid. Other pictures held equally gruesome sights.

At the end of this hall was an enclosed stairway. I made my way down and stepped out into the courtyard. I was still under a roof; a covered walkway that went around the courtyard. In a room on my left lay a mannequin head covered in paint, a large pencil stuck through its Styrofoam cheek. Weird art projects were everywhere, some were hanging around the courtyard, some were actual structures just sitting in the grass. It may not make sense, but my mind equated it to projects to help psychiatric patients in a mental asylum.

Two guys whispered off to the side as they smoked. They didn’t seem pleased that I was there, so I moved on and finally found the lobby. Looking back, I think they may have been discussing something illegal.

It was actually pretty normal in the lobby, aside from a few eccentric art students with alternative looks. There is actually a nice museum viewable from the area.

The secretary gave me my quiz, and I took it (I made a 98. Whoop whoop!)

I was finally getting out of there, and after having done something so ordinary in such an ordinary place, I felt less uneasy about going through the building.

“Goodbye creepy mannequin head!” I smiled as I walked towards the stairs. I checked my phone as I went upstairs and back through the halls. I almost missed it.

My mind registered a few steps past the collage and I went back to look at it.

There was a new drawing on it. A young man wore a striped polo shirt. His head was separated from his neck, held together only by his esophagus. It was drawn in excruciating detail.

I was drawn in excruciating detail.