The sound of roasting coffee beans as Professor Ozwell started his daily routine on schedule. Afterward, he would do a light workout in his mini-gym down in the basement followed by a hot shower, turning the knob when he realized the hot water had run out.
"Fuck."
He would start grading papers on the island opposite his cooking area. This was what he dreaded most, as nothing annoyed him more than the idiocy of most of his students that saw arts as a playground. His marks were consistently big and inked in hard, his eyes squinted at every little detail that annoyed him. Too absorbed in his checking, his smoke alarm went up as his breakfast of eggs shriveled up into tiny black spots on the pan.
"Fuck."
He tore the pan off the stove with rigorous force, his face fixed with an irritating grin. Just when he thought nothing could make his morning worse, his cell phone buzzed. Swiping open he saw the message coming from one of the competition's judges. "We will be dropping off the prized work at 9 am today. Please, extend our congratulations to the talented artist who could not be at the ceremony." it read.
"Fuck."
~~~
"Have you done what I asked, Charles?" Professor Ozwell said, leaning back into his chair.
"I've gathered the materials and placed them near the building. But you're seriously not planning on going through with this, are you?"
"And are you okay with your family knowing the truth?"
"Go to hell! My family loves me, no matter what I do. Sure, I fucked up by lying to them for all these years, but it's better than torching a whole building filled with people."
"I told you, there will be no casualties in our endeavor. The only fatality lies in that scandalous story of theirs. Any data that they would have backed up in their computers would be fried in the process as well." Realizing the boy had finally gained a spine, the professor made every move to reason him back to his loyal lapdog.
"And what about saving it on the net? It won't be worth it if they could just make the story again, right?"
"Their computers are provided by the university, specially programmed by the university. That means anything they might have is stored in the school's data banks. A simple favor will do away with such a trifle but it needs to be done after."
Charlie fell silent. His dedication to turning his back on the professor upon entering has slowly faded away.
"Well? Are there other holes you wish to poke into this plan of ours?"
He stammered, shakily holding his fists up. Nevertheless, he gave in to the professor's words of affirmation.
"Good. Now, the festival begins tonight. Everyone will gather at the center of the university when the bonfire starts so make sure everything is ready beforehand."
Charlie would faintly nod in response.
"Tell your friends that you have a stomach ache or you had a date. Anything that will leave you out of any suspicion. That being said, leave the materials where you stored them and I will dispose of them the following day. I handle the inventory management so this should not be a problem."
Ozwell turned around in his seat, his shadow engulfing the entirety of Charlie's large physique.
"Do this well and we can consider all debts paid. You get to graduate with your friends and no one's the wiser. Are we clear?"
Charlie raised his head and nodded with a sharp stare. He retreated into the hallway and gently closed the doors.
"I heard you won first place at the meet."
"Excuse me?" Professor Ozwell turned back to ask.
"I'm sorry, your top student won the meet. Though, it made me wonder."
"Wonder what exactly?"
"Wonder why I'm only hearing about him now."
"He's new. Freshman, barely knows anything about color combinations."
"Then how'd he win?" Charlie snarkily asked.
"Luck, the competition was lackluster at best."
"Really? This freshman, I've seen him running around with the paper club people a lot." Professor Ozwell leaned back onto his desk. His hands gripping the end of it where he sat.
"Get to the point will you."
"You see, I don't think you want to cover up some scandalous story to save your reputation. No, I think it's all jealousy."
"Do you now?" Professor Ozwell responded, gripping the desk tighter with each word.
"Fresh young talent getting all the prizes and hanging out with friends. All having a good time. Makes you wish that was you doesn't it?"
"If this is your attempt at provoking me you best look for a different game plan."
"I'd never think to. Not me." Charlie slowly closed the double doors and disappeared into the parking lot. Professor Ozwell waited until he was gone, he was aware that no one could see him in his office but he felt as if eyes were everywhere and stabbing stares into his skin.
"Jealous? Me? Please…" He looked down at his hand which was shaking with sweat. The frustrated professor slammed the desk and opened a drawer containing his art kit. He threw the carpet at the center of the room aside and positioned the easel and canvas he had at the center. The brush was meters away from the canvas but nothing came of it. Sweat dripped down from his forehead as he struggled to produce an artwork of his own. The proud professor sat there for minutes, convincing himself that he was not jealous of some college student
With great force, he swatted the easel out of his face and buried his face in his hands. Panting with frustration, he cursed himself for having Charlie's words still lingering in his head. He stared at his hand, remembering a time when they would produce works that won medals and made critics swoon.
"Maybe… No… Fuck…"