It was the first day back to school, twenty minutes into first period. All students should have been in their classes. Too bad for Esmay Holander. She stood next to the janitor's closet, tapping the toe of her sneaker against the terrazzo floor, dithering. Already, Esmay knew, she was going to be labeled as ‘the tardy student’, thanks to the shadow man hovering over locker.
To any other individual, she would have politely asked them to move aside, but this stranger just about projected gloominess. Her legs muscles were knotted, involuntary to movement. In his presence, the air had an aloof sting to it and the hues encompassing him were dull. It dawned on her how much the teen resembled Frollo by similar means of pallid skin, angular cheekbones, and a sour aura. Someone could have been easily erred his selected clothing for a cloak, had the impression of rubbery leather been nonexistent. All in all, he looked plain exhausted. Ephemerally, Esmay daydreamed, envisioning herself in a land where it was possible to hold sunlight. She yearned for a game of catch with him, in which the sunbeams would dissipate his mopes.
Stop it! She reprimanded to herself. You have an education to get to. Breathing in, she strut decorously toward him. She pulled the break though when the stranger steered his body.
"Spencer?" She questioned, placing a name to the recognizable face. His bangs had been snipped at the sides, ergo his altered countenance broadcasted like the initiation of a musical or play—wide open curtains and a spotlight that stresses everything within the area. Leaden skin, bloodshot eyes, forlornness. There were bags under his eyes, and those bags wore bags. His lips looked molded together with a grey film, as if he hadn’t so much as whispered a phrase in months. Instinctively, Esmay launched forward to envelop his unnerved figure; but then their eyes linked and she skid to a stop, understanding that even care from his best friend could not remedy him.
Passing her by, he made an effort to grin. Instead, he was prized with a bloody bottom lip when the parched skin tore apart. Esmay silently grieved over her Prince.
YOU ARE READING
Deconstructing Royalty
Teen FictionSometimes I fantasize that I exist in a world of fairytales. Heck, I wish my world was a fairytale, like in those enchanting Disney classics. You know, those stories of young, beautiful princesses that long for a prince. Then, about thirty minutes i...
