Genesis

Birthday Cake

     "I just found another flavor," Lucius laughed.

     "Geez, how many ice-cream flavors is that now?" Dorian chuckled.

     "Twenty-six... but not that I'm keeping count or anything," I said as Dorian smiled warmly at me.

     "What flavor?" Dorian asked Lucius, who glanced at the label before he replied.

     "Birthday cake," Lucius said, tossing it to Dorian who caught it swiftly, "But that's the only one left."

     "Quinn? Dou want it?" Dorian asked me.

     "No thanks, you have it. I think I'm going to take a walk now anyway," I replied. 

     "Leaving so soon?" Lucius asked me.

     "Not leaving, just need to use the bathroom. I'll be back," I told them, pushing myself up onto my feet, "See you guys."

     They waved at me, before going back to talking about the latest ice-cream flavor.

     I walked pretty aimlessly for quite a while, past toy aisles and shoe aisles, past gardening equipment and-, hunting gear. I decided to take a turn, coming upon a wall of hunting knives. My eye was caught by a shiny knife with an iridescent coat, the metallic pastels rearranging themselves as I walked closer to it. While I was tempted to take it, I knew it wasn't exactly the best choice because it reflected light so easily, so I opted for a dark grey carbon-fiber switchblade. I managed to keep myself from grabbing every cute thing I saw as I continued my search for the bathrooms, eventually stumbling upon a 'W/C' sign hanging high in one of the hallways between the aisles. I followed the arrows, noticing I had entered the arts and crafts section when my attention was suddenly caught by a faint scratching noise.

     I froze in the fear that a rager might be somewhere near, but the more I listened, the more that the scratching noises became less random. I realized that there seemed to be some order about them as I thought that it sounded more like scribbling than scratching. And that's when it hit me. It was the sound of a pencil running across paper.

     I listened to the coordinated strokes of the pencil as I took slow steps towards the source of the sound, eventually rounding the corner of a large shelf stocked with sketchbooks, and I saw him. It was Colt.

     He was sitting, leaning back on the shelf, with a large sketchpad resting on his thighs. I observed as he moved the pencil across the paper, watching as each stroke fit into his sketch, like a piece of an intricate puzzle. The puzzle revealed a forest, the pencil etching in the harsh accents and dark shadows of the woods, creating a picture that was both grim and captivating.

     "Beautiful," I whispered, the words escaping my mouth just as easily as Colt stroked his pencil across the paper- until he stopped. I was snapped out of my trance when he looked up at me suddenly, his expression so hateful that I questioned whether the calm look I could have sworn I saw on his face before was even real.

     He slammed the sketchbook shut so forcefully that it made me jump, and then he spoke.

     "So do you stalk everyone now, or is it just me?"

     I bit my tongue to keep myself from trying to respond to that question watching as Colt ran a hand through his hair. When he didn't say anything else, I tried to make conversation again.

     "Where did you learn to draw like that?" I asked him quickly.

     With my next comment, Colt pushed himself to his feet, "None of your damn business," he told me, stepping over the sketchbook and brushing past me.

     "Where are you going?" I asked him, managing to keep myself from stuttering.

     "I'm going to get some godforsaken ice-cream," he snapped at me as he stormed off.

     I took a moment to try to figure out what just happened, before chalking it down to 'Colt hates everything and it is impossible to have a conversation with him'.

     Memories of him that night in the woods flashed in my mind. I shook my head and continued to try to find the bathrooms.