Intrinsic

Day 10 (Alternate version)

There's beauty in chaos.
Eyes gaze off into the distance and then move towards the fly my fingers had just crushed a few seconds ago as my brain whispered those words. The voice in my head decides it does not like what my brain said- she justifies it by the way the fly quakes and trembles for death and the pain between my legs.
There's no beauty in that.

A few minutes later, when the fly buzzes its last breath, lean jean-clad legs slowly get up and start walking around the hallway.
The hallway that was once full of dreams yet to be fulfilled and tears of joy mixed in with sweat.
All gone in a blur.
I let my legs carry me around the length once.
Twice.
And then I let my brain guide me back to the position on the concrete pathway- right beside the area that still burns with the remains of ache that my soul remembers well.
The sound of footsteps echo over the last buzz of the fly and stops right next to my form.
"Hey, Maria? I heard you pulled a muscle during practice? Are you okay?", a heavy voice calls out, his tone light and weary.
I nod, "Yeah."
My brain thinks I sound convincing.
His eyes dig into the side of my face and my conscious sneers at it, the action tugging at all the etiquettes lessons dad had forced me to take.
"Ah, okay," he pauses, "Everyone's going to the Dhaaba; do you want to come with?"
"No." My brain voices out.
I realize a second later of how harsh it sounds and my subconscious tuts in disbelief. Turning my head to the side, I force a smile.
Or at least I think it's a smile.
"You go on. I'll join you later, okay?"
He nods and scratches the back of his neck, "Okay then, see you there."
And just like that, we are alone again.
The dead fly; completely and utterly lifeless, and a physical form who is divided into three parts- one of which is dead.
My eyelids itch and then move to look at the ground, a crimson red spot embedded into the cracks in the concrete.
A breath leaves my lips and shoulders stiffen.
I guess they didn't clean it off.
Then my eyelids blink- once, twice.
And it hits me.

My body sits on the concrete floor, upper half backed up with the dirty white block of wood we used to sit on during short breaks. Sweat trickles down my back and into the valley under the torn shirt.
A groan leaves my parched lips as firewater runs down my neck, back, over my hips- the area in between.
I turn my gaze to the flower bed and they bow down, the red dominating the light within them, apologizing for their betrayal as if they had no control over it.
My brain thinks of scoffing and then quiets down as the green snake coiled over the dead wheeled body hisses in pride; happy that its commander had done what it had been planning for so long. The olive branches hanging above it agree and their eyes gleam with approval.
The same eyes that once gleamed when they lulled a shining sparrow into my neck with pride.
A whimper escapes my lips as the commander pushes in harder and forces it's claws into the only flower my soul had been left with. The only gift I had been able to save from everything the world had taken away from me.
Snickers float through the wind and echo into my ears as my eyes land a pair of wide brown ones, wide, fearful, but frozen in time.
"You're so beautiful," she whispers, looming over me, and then runs a finger down the length of my stomach, "Just one last time."
And as she pulls away, I shake my head at the chocolate beans and cry out.
Droplets of red cover her hand as she laughs and shakes it; they fall and land onto my sneakers and on the concrete floor. Her eyes give my aching form a once over before she bends low and whispers, "You can skip practice tomorrow, doll."
And just like that, she walks away.


"Maria!"
I jump up, startled.
The professor glares at me, the expression forming angry lines across his forehead to match his eyes.
"You need to pay attention Ms. Otherwise; you'll fail the exams that are just around the corner." He grunts.
I nod, "Yes, sir."
"Good.", he turns away and my brain sighs in relief, rolling its eyes at his retreating back.
"Now class," he starts, "Charles Stevenson believed that chaos was intrinsic- that man felt what he made himself feel and is the master of the bad and good he feels.", he looked around and then continued, "Let's have a healthy discussion about this, shall we? Raise your hands if you disagree with his theory."
Instantly, my hand shoots up.
I falter, and then pull it down; nails digging into the soft flesh of my sweaty palm. And as my conscious screams, I remind her of the fly sitting on top of our notebook- and the absence of the pain between our legs.