"Damien."
"That's the name."
"Tell me a story."
"Once upon a time, there were three little pigs.."
"Mr. Kavinsky."
"That's the name."
Her face looks like a deflated basketball, he thought.
I wish for nothing else than an angel to descend from the heavens and shoot me where I stand if I turn into the Grinch thirty years down the line.
"Have you been paying attention to anything I've been saying?"
"No."
"How do you expect to pass this class?"
"Easy, I don't."
The class was silent, apart from the occasional snicker in the corner, everyone was scared shitless of Miss Crotchet, whose name only fueled Damien's theory of her kicking her less admirable students in the dick at any sign of misbehavior.
For the girls, he assumed she gave them a titty punch and left it at that.
"Mr. Kavinsky, there is no room for this kind of behavior in an institution of learning. I bid you to take yourself elsewhere."
he stared blankly, shrugging her words off like sleet on a roof.
"I bid you to make your way back to the 16th century ma'am, God know's they're missing their Elizabeth."
Before she could retort to his slander, he slipped out of the classroom.
If there was a God they had answered his prayers, he needed a cigarette.
It wasn't a very nice day by most other's standards, but it was a nice day to Damien.
The sky looked like an abstract painting composed of only greys and darker greys before the artist decided to get a little creative and add the grey-ish blue's of his tragic childhood.
The heat from the cigarette is comforting, the flicker is not.
Fire is bad, as Smokey the Bear says.
Fire brings bad thoughts, fire brings back bad memories.
He takes another drag and lets out a soft chuckle, his eyes linger on the burnt end of his cigarette regardless of his feelings towards it.
And, even yet, I dare not let it languish,
Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain;
Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,
How could I seek the empty world again?
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P U R E
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