an original by asa !
(this used to be THE VIOLENT AND THE DELIGHTFUL but has now been renamed APOLLO)
or in which a group of misfit majors come together and meet a chaotic ethics professor who can make all their dark academia nightmares come true.
(...
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TRACK: WRITER IN THE DARK MELODRAMA, LORDE
•••
"you have witchcraft in your lips, there is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in the tongues of the french council; and they should sooner persuade harry of england than a general petition of monarchs." - w. shakespeare, henry v
•••
CAMPUS GROUNDS, CLASS 413. ETHICS.
TIMOTHÉE.
NOT A SINGLE LIGHT IN SIGHT, EXCEPT FOR THE SHINING, SHINING, SHINING LIGHT OF A BOY'S GOLDEN HEAD. the light of his hair was like the first ray of sun on an ocean. alluringly clear, but concealing mysteries older than time.
timothée was drawn to it almost instinctively, the way nectar draws the bees, and the harsh, bright greens of tree frogs draw predators.
garçon idiot, avez-vous oublié? tout ce qui brille n'est pas d'or. his mother's warnings sound like asylum alarms in his ears. yet, he moves cautiously towards the glowing boy. he doesn't want to distract the boy, who sat by himself, with all the calmness of a sea before a storm.
why this golden boy was sitting all by himself in an empty classroom was beyond timothée, but he figured he could do with some company. for someone who was incredibly shy, timothée wanted nothing more than to talk to the sun kissed boy.
lumière- light- which was the name timothée had given his companion, was seated to the far, far right, in the corner- almost like he was hiding. timothée made a move towards the last row, climbing more stairs than he should have, to get to the boy in question.
bad idea number two. timothée figured it wasn't the first; since that would be his desire to befriend the golden haired boy.
climbing the stairs was a painful thing to do. his lungs were being cruel, making him pant heavily, hands reaching out for oxygen. the oxygen- whatever little was making its way through his thin body- was leaving his lungs faster than it was entering them. it wasn't long before he collapsed in a massive pile on the floor, trying to just breathe.
his hand moved instinctively to grab his sides, his body putting so much effort into breathing, he could feel his ribs through the fabric of his cardigan. his chest squeezed in on itself, and it felt like someone was trying to drain the life out of him.
respire, respite, respire! respire, Jacques! his mother's voice sounded in his mind. at this point he was convinced she was what entirely constituted his internal monologue. he would've laughed at that thought, if only he could breathe.
