Yellow Speck

one; mint cigarettes

Mint flavoured cigarette dangles in between John's lips, his outlines breaking and color seeping out but slowly fading in and fixing themselves in a hazy blur of tranquility. Dunhill today, maybe Winston tomorrow, might be Marlboro.

White smoke goes through his tongue and slides down his throat, lungs breathing in the misery. His eyes feel heavy and everything is a blur of city lights and fading anger.

Eventually the mint fades, and it tastes bitter and rough.

He disintegrates slowly, then all at once. A scoff here, sob there, then eventually he's done with three packets and going on with his fourth, trying to burn away the lingering feeling of her fingers in the spaces between his.

The rooftop is awfully quiet tonight, stars ripping through the dark sky. He wishes he has wings but the Redbull in his hold doesn't give him any. John holds the cigarette with two fingers and stares forty feet below.

A small sigh escapes his lips, and he brings the cigarette back to his lips when he catches the small scent of her in his shirt.

The sad thing is, her perfume is stuck on his pillow, so maybe he'll sleep on the sofa tonight.

--

"Maybe you need some recreational activity," Carry, John's mother, said. The slight aftertaste of their new orange juice makes him cringe. The sun was shining brightly outside their window and he wasn't in the mood to argue so he agreed to anything his mother signed him up for.

So here he was now, in front of a building in the largest church in his town, a thousand thoughts and one little regret.

Saturday, elleven-forty six am. Classes start at twelve, he remembers. With a last sigh, he walks in and looks for his classroom. Three hours of religion, go.

Once he enters the classroom he notices that this kind of class was different from the norm. It was quiet as fuck and the students weren't even talking to each other. The walls were plain beige and off-white. Reminded him of a dead hospital room.

Somehow there's a nagging feeling of get ready which is rather unsure and unsteady; like something's bound to happen right around the corner. The vague taste of cigarette and coffee in his throat makes him more uncomfortable than he already is.

Eventually the teacher comes in, on the dot. He sighs internally. John wished that at least he would be late so that three hours could seem less. He has a ton to do at home, assignments included.

The teacher then starts the starting prayer, which consumed three minutes of their time. He found it odd how a prayer could last so long.

Once they were seated, the teacher introduced himself with a smile. "Call me Mr. Leo. Welcome to Level nine of Jesus School." John fidgets in his seat. "For new students, this ain't so bad. Maybe catholicism isn't your thing, and I respect that. Maybe you're more... video game-ism," he jokes. The class chuckles along.

---

twelve fifteen pm. John mentally grips at the roots of his hair and rips them from his scalp.

How can so much shit be said in fifteen minutes?!

It was only fifteen fucking minutes but it felt like an hour to John. Maybe the clock is broken. He nodded internally. The clock must be broken.

"Can anyone tell me why you believe in God? "

John sighs for the umpteenth time that day and decides that maybe this wasn't worth anything. He could be home right then, video games ready and sleep just two steps away.

He stares at the clock and throws his head back once he realizes only seventeen minutes have passed. He was really starting to regret on agreeing to his mother's suggestion. What was the big deal about attending this class when he didn't even believe in God? Sometimes religion is a pain in the ass.

"Oh my God, I'm so, so, so, sooo sorry I'm late as Hell- I was busy finishing my pieces-- oh Jesus I'm just so sorry."

There's a flash of silky, black, curly hair and the smell of cherry blossoms with honeysuckle. It makes him blink numerous times before his vision clears and focuses on a jet black-haired punk chic wearing the most obsurd combination of black. It's like she came from a funeral. And when she tucked her hair behind her ear- wow, four piercings?

How can such a girl be at a school like this? (He hears a subtle "God fuck, where is my notebook; shit.")

As if the student's arrival brought him glee, the teacher eagerly asked the same question to the late comer, "Why do we believe in God?"

Shady girl (as he'd like to call her) merely shrugged and giggled. "Because our moms told us so, I guess- I mean hey, I used to believe in the tooth fairy because mom said she was real."

There's a sudden twitch to John's lips, a tiny smile. When he looks around he sees almost everyone in the class getting livelier and talking to Shady girl.

The teacher smiled, a big ass grin as he claps. "We have new students, care to introduce yourself, Ms. Miserable?"

Ms. Miserable had laughed loudly and heartily then, a coy grin in the edges of her lips. "Name's Claire. Just Claire; call me that or call me nothing."

There's a twinkle in her eye.

And John thinks, as he stares at the subtle misery in her irises, maybe Saturday classes are worth a shot.

---

an hour has passed and John was staring to think that this Claire was some sort of magical being. The dead class is now lively and full of uproarious laughter. He hides a grin behind his fringe. It wouldn't hurt to play around, right?