The Devil and God || BSD

III - Despair in a Man as Three

Listen to the heart? The mind? What fragile guts!

Long lost hours stretched themselves across six and a half. A time consisting of unceremonious drowsiness and exhaustion, weighing down, destroying, and defeating any spirit that could have been once victoriously reigning in some bodies.

The students made haste to fly out of the classroom once the last bell of the day rang; Irving too managed to push her way out, partially irritated with inconvenient hindrance, though this rage would suddenly subside once they were eliminated. Most students went out into the halls for their afterschool activities that the young girl never found an interest to take part in. She joined a few others who were going out of the building.

She walked briskly toward her locker, switched the shoes on her feet with her own in the cupboard, shut it closed, and went out. By the steps, she was stopped by another student.

"Ah! Irving-san! How are you?" the girl waved and overtook her.

Irving did not speak much to her, only mere encounters and circumstances where Irving had found it in herself to aid her in the most basic of assignments. The girl was in a grade lower than her, tiny, and of remarkable red cheeks with short brown hair. Her bright eyes glittered in a pleasant way, but she was one of those who once they were started in conversation, it was theirs to the end and the other party would have no choice but to listen quietly, with major interruptions.

Irving stared at her dreamily and did not move; she blinked slowly. It was as if though she did not know who she was and was stunned with wonder. Once the memory struck her mind her mouth opened in comic realization.

"Oh. It's you," she muttered lowly. "I'm doing well. Do you need something?" she asked with characteristic monotony.

The girl beamed. "The chess club is having a meeting. Will you not come?"

Irving tilted her head, seeming to ponder the idea. Her face scrunched as if remembering something utterly grotesque. "I don't know how to play chess."

"What!" shrieked the girl.

"Hm?"

"No! You just seemed...like you knew how to play."

"I've never played," repeated Irving with certainty.

The girl faltered with her frankness. There was no trace of a lie in the older girl's assertion. "Well, but that is...it doesn't matter! We can teach you! We know plenty of tricks! And you're super smart, you'll learn quickly! Come, come!"

"No, thank you, really. I have to get to work. Goodbye," she smiled with feigned gratitude and turned away, walking outside of the building and leaving the girl in a state akin to dismay and shallow disappointment.

Irving inhaled the air, mystified with the idea that she had felt so cramped with such a short livid and casual conversation. Indeed, due to the regrettable misery that her brain had shoved toward the back of her mind in order to concentrate with more present matters, without mentioning her horrible sleep, Irving could not and did not collect any unnecessary form of strength to follow through any social interaction of any kind.

She dreaded the notion further when Hemingway appeared from behind her.

"You are so quick! Listen, seriously, you walk so fast! I'd need two energy drinks to catch up with you," she huffed unevenly but still pushed words out. "So, how was your last class?"

"It was fine," the girl muttered.

Hemingway quickly recognized the somber visage of her friend and knew it would be better to not involve her too repeatedly in friendly interrogation. In that way, she took it upon herself to share as much as possible from only her behalf, careful to ask very subtle opinions in between lines.