Why me? Why them?

Chapter 1 - Sharayah

Frick! Frick! Frick! friiiiiiiiiiiick!

Puffing, I run as fast as I could. Dodging other students to not drop the precious information in the form of crushed up and chemicalized trees. I dashed around bright posters, glass cases containing interesting shapes, paintings of more color or more darker than one's soul. Sparing glances at a few artworks, I smiled at the recognizable signatures, giving and responding to a few smiles and hellos to fellow peers. I struggled to breathe as I travel from one end of the college to the other and back again. I need to go faster!!! Aaaagh! Taking another sharp U-turn, I am faced with a glossy mahogany door, a glass slab at the side, framed with color. The pages I carry are rough and silky at the same time, the tips of my fingers white from holding onto them.

If I had dropped this, I might've gotten downgraded for presentation or something! Then I would be received with a strained smile saying, 'Oh Sharayah! What happened? You used to make the best...' wait no... they would frown instead, asking why the hell I managed to make such a mess... no nonono. They WOULD have a strained smile, concerned why my performance had dropped... yeah, that's more like it... but I didn't drop the pages, so I have nothing to stress about... But then-

Sharayah. Knock on the door and have your panic attack later, you're here, and besides, you haven't dropped it. Says the more reasonable side of my brain.

I look at the distorted reflection in the glass, a small fuzzy figure stood there, with fuzzy orange hair and a fuzzy white complexion, a fuzzy black shirt and two fuzzy rectangles over where the fuzzy eyes should be. Looking past the reflection, I look around seeing the lovely made bookcases plastered with notes and artwork, filled with the adventures contained in pages and leather. But casting around my eyes, I spot a thin figure that would resemble a tree, a thick trunk but small and thin limbs swaying in the wind. She wore a black dress today, patterned with swirls and elegant patterns of flowers that framed her... well, frame. Racking my knuckles on the door, I see the figure turn to reveal an almost perfect face. Her eye's where the color of dark chocolate melted and swirled with honey, her nose straight, but with the tip of her nose pointing up, her fine lips painted with a fine light chocolate color, a small and delicate face was framed with hazel hair with blond streaks, all tied up in a bun. I see my teacher approach the door, her wrist disappearing from my line of sight. Stepping back when the door swung inwards, giving off the perfume of old paper and the tang of paint. The sunlight from the non-visible window highlighted the surprise written all over her face.

"Hello Miss Clowde, I'm here to submit my written assignment!" I beamed.

"But that's due next week!" Miss Clowde claimed, staring at my many pages.

"Yeah... I know, I just wanted to submit early because next week is going to be really hectic for me. My friends are planning something for me because I managed to survive my third year in college."

Miss Clowde smiled, (and with my satisfaction there was no strain in it), taking the papers from my hands and placed them in the corner of her well organised desk.

"I won't be able to mark these until next week, and Sharayah," Turning her attention on me, my smile falters slightly, that tone... was that a bad tone? Yet she said it so causally... so maybe it's something serious, but nothing bad... yeah... "I don't want you to overwork yourself. You are one of my best students I had in years, and I know that because of your hard work you managed to go up a grade or two, but I need you to take breaks time to time, if you continue to overwork yourself you're going to end up burning yourself up. Go have fun with your friends." With a wink she closed the door, leaving me to turn my heel to look at the new and beautiful artworks.

..............................................................................................................................

I was in my dorm, sitting at my desk, writing. I was comforted by the fact that this room, was mine. It had been for almost 3 years now. I loved this room for it's view, the window was a good old normal window with everyday edging you might find in any other home, but the fact that there were stickers and old carvings from previous owners that covered it always brought a smile on my face. The old ordinary door was covered in photos and drawings from over the years that I have been here. The room that I know of doesn't have any particular scent to it, but I'm pretty sure that it's covered in my scent, like how you hug someone and they just have a scent around them that you mentally mark as theirs? Yeah, something like that. The walls had received similar treatment as my door, but instead of sketches or ideas, there are pine frames with stretched parchment caked in paint. The images portraying tragic, horrifying, happy and surrealistic stories. In a certain corner was a simple bookcase overflowing with pages read and re-read, with the other corner being presented with an overflowing table, colored pencils, texters, paint, paintbrushes and paper covered any spare space left. Contained in a different room were two beds, one plain with only a white sheet and a single pillow, waiting for someone to come and claim it, the second bed was something you could call an abstract artwork in itself, the blankets half strewn onto the floor, the pillows on both ends of the bed overrun with stuffed animals; both big and small. The view in the window was overlooking the campus, presenting the green gardens patterned with flowers filled with bright and happy colors, surrounding statues and sculptures that lined the pathways and painted benches. Students milled around, sitting, talking to peers, gazing at the flowers or artworks, and rushing to get to late afternoon classes. But despite all the comfort, all the peace and good vibes, I just couldn't get this stupid paragraph right!