Akuma

Chapter One

Pleasure is the first sensation I feel.

The next, is fear.

For some peculiar reason, I feel immense pleasure during my acts of sin. Perhaps that's why I do it. But it is not. It is not of my own free will that I commit these atrocious acts, but one of a higher force; a God. Or, perhaps, the Devil. An evil being, controlling my acts. But how is it that I continue to live in this world like I did before? How is it, that I still feel the same towards each of my hobbies, and every one of the people in my life? Surely, if the Devil, a being with such great power, and so much influence over this world and its people, there would be more of a change in my existence? Surely, the Devil would have changed how I think, at the very least? But no - I still think the same thoughts as I used to. I still like and dislike the same things; the same people. Maybe there's a possibility that I am not being controlled by the Devil, or even a God. Maybe, it's just me.

But I doubt that very much.

I arrive at the front of the college with minutes to spare before I need to get to class. Those minutes are spent smelling the roses – quite literally, might I add. The entrance to the college is surrounded by a garden overflowing with flowers, predominately consisting of roses. Although roses are not my favourite flowers, I will, without hesitation, have a quick look if I pass by a garden filled with them. Most of the roses in the college garden are red, but there are a few, pushed away under the more vibrant flowers, that are of different colours. It's been 6 months since I started at this college, and in that time, I have counted all the flowers that are in the front gardens. Six hundred and sixty-six flowers total, just by the entrance. 16 pure white roses, 15 of which are hidden behind the countless blood red roses that almost engulf the other flowers. It looks almost like a war field; like a sea of blood. 7 creamy yellow roses, 5 of which emerge slightly from the overflowing garden bed. The other two creamy yellow roses are hidden under the other flowers. There are only 2 purple roses hidden underneath the seemingly limitless number of flowers. My favourite flower, however, is the pink one. There is only one, and its name is "Carefree Beauty". The Carefree Beauty Rose – what a lovely name. You may think that it's my favourite flower in the garden bed, just because it's pink, and pink just so happens to be my favourite colour. But it's not. In fact, I hate that rose. I despise it. I don't like its name – carefree. Why on earth would anything or anybody be care free? There are too many things to worry about; to care about. Your family, your friends, your significant other, your pets, your belongings, your achievements, yourself. I hate what it looks like. It's ugly. I'm not even quite sure what it is about this specific rose that I find ugly. It's very rare for me to find something ugly. I try my best to see the beauty in everything. But for some odd reason, this rose is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen in my entire existence, and I do not think I will ever see anything more hideous than the Carefree Beauty.

Smelling the roses has taken up all my spare minutes before classes, I realise, as I am almost knocked aside by the students in their ironed, almost school uniform like, clothing. These are the students who just started midway through the year. They are clearly excited, clearly nervous, and clearly have no idea what is in store for them. The college I attend is not a high prestige college, but it is not a last resort college, either. We accept applications at the end of the previous year, as well as about a third of the way through the year. This is to give time to look over the applications, hold interviews with the high-spirited students, and think through who we should accept. The students who are accepted, depending on when they applied, will either start at the beginning of the year, or midway through. I applied to this college just before the start of this year, and to my surprise, I got accepted. I don't think of myself as a very intelligent girl. I don't think of myself as very talented, either. But I guess something about me attracted the staff and they were compelled to accept me. What it was, though, I couldn't tell you, for I haven't the slightest clue. I straighten myself up and walk slowly to homeroom, all the way at the other side of the building. I take my time walking, as I always do. I take my time with everything – I am a perfectionist. Glancing at my watch just as I open the homeroom door, I see the bright white digital numbers reading 9:13am. Just as always, I arrive at homeroom at exactly 9:13am. What a strange number. I often ponder for a few minutes at the start of homeroom as to why I always arrive at 9:13am. I've even tried to change up my daily routine to try and arrive at a different time, but I always seem to get here at 9:13am. I've tried staying around the roses for longer, and I monitor how long I'm there for on my watch as to make sure I stay at least five minutes longer than usual. But to no avail. I've tried skipping the roses all together, but again; to no avail. Perhaps it's just my self-conscious mind, knowing what the current time is and making my body walk faster or slower, depending if I stay at the roses longer or skip them all together. I never spend too much time thinking of this, however. I have better things to think about than the time I arrive at homeroom, however strange and orderly it may seem. For example, I need to think about my upcoming classes. Well – class – not a plural. I only have one class, that being art. I love art. Everything is art, art is everything. I see art in people's faces. I see art in the way people walk, talk, and act. I see art in the way people communicate with each other, whether it be aggressively, or passively. I see art in the way people look at the love of their lives and their eyes light up like the moon, or like Christmas lights. Art is in everything; you just have to find it and identify it.