Saving You (Ziall)

The Corridor in the Left Wing

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"Down the hall, through those doors, thats where you'll find the Left Wing."

"And thats where the Art studio is?" I raised my eyebrows at the middle-aged woman sitting behind the counter. She looked tired. Her hair was brown, with shiny wisps of grey that stuck out horrendously. Her eyes were a nice, soft shade of blue and were surrounded by thick black eyelashes. She slumped forward in her chair and had a small hunch in her back. She looked completely uninterested in her job and couldn't even look me in the eye.

Was everyone tired of life here?

"Yes, sir."

"Okay," I ended awkwardly and turned to go.

"Sir?"

"Yeah?"

"You need a visitors' pass."

"Ah."

"Your name please?"

"Zayn. Z - a - y - n."

"You got a last name?" She asked.

"Malik, M - a - l - i - k."

"Here you go," she leaned over the desk and pasted the sticker on my chest, jabbing it hard into my collar bone.

I frowned and turned to go.

"Enjoy."

"Er, thank you," mumbling was all I was able to make out.

Down the hall.

The hall was covered completely with too many records to count.

Through the doors.

The doors looked as if they'd been painted by a couple of rowdy teenagers who expressed their feelings through art. They were covered in graffiti, stickers and glitter, and buttons and ribbons of all sorts. And I absolutely just loved it

And then, I was in the Left Wing.

Of a library.

Now this, this was truly a sight.

The walls, they were spray painted and the book cases, none of them matched. The chairs, some were bean bags, some were giant circles hanging from a wall and others were like those couches you see in sitcoms.

For a community college, it seemed more like an art school, and that was perfectly okay with me.

"Need any help with finding your class or anything, buddy?"

I turned to the light voice of a lad that was about my age.

He smiled. He was a good-looking guy, a bit taller than I, soft brown eyes and blond hair.

"Yeah, uh thanks, I'm looking for the art studio . . . I want to sign up for a class, I think."

He chuckled, raising his brow.

"You think you want to sign up?"

"Yeah," I shrugged, smiling.

"Alright, well the art room is through this door right here . . ." He started to lead me through one of the three doors in the library.

"But," he turned on his heel back to me, bumping into me. "Oi! Sorry, mate."

"S'kay."

"It's just that, the professor isn't here at the moment."