He exhaled his warm breath into his cold palms as he cupped them over his nose and mouth to try and provide the chilled hands some comfort. The air was frigid and deadly still.
In the rundown and dilapidated classroom, he stood alone, staring with perfervid concentration at the old and scratched blackboard. Before his hand moved to pick up a fallen patch of half-moist paint on the floor that had fallen from the walls.
The classroom was actually within an old cram school building comprising of a broken-down teacher's office, a toilet and this one classroom. The building had gotten old over the years with no one to look after it. It seemed to have been nearly burnt down before, visible from the charred lower regions of the walls.
The moisture accumulated over many season had made the walls puffy. Most of the paint and coating had fallen off.
He rubbed the paper like paint over his left palm till it became somewhat powdery. Using the fingers he rubbed the paint with and moving them towards the blackboard, he began to write in small and neat handwriting,
"Happy birthday Micaela."
After cleaning his hands with a handkerchief, he turned around and went over to pick the bouquet of poppies on the table over the teacher's podium.
Walking over, he reached the last seat of the first row nearest the window, before placing down the bouquet on the table. He dragged out the chair and sat down with an awfully laid back demeanour, his arm extending into the table to pull out a photo frame.
Within was a rough and torn photo of a comely young girl. She had curly hazel hair, dark eyes, sharp facial contours and yet a very tender smile, deeply contrasting with her impressionable appearance. Looking at her one would unconsciously feel happy.
His expression became nostalgic, with openly exhibited melancholy. Eyes showing the act of reminiscing about old and happy times. Looking at him, one would feel that the boy was in a delicate bubble. One touch and it would pop. The flood of emotions might come surging out.
However no one would be willing to believe if they were told that at that moment the only thing running through his head were a series of unrepeated, innovative and constant curses.
Let us make one thing clear. He had no idea where he was at the moment. Why he was there. What he was doing and why he was doing whatever it is that he was doing.
Just a little while ago, he was in class at his university. One moment he was noting down the lecture and the very next, he had been standing in front of an old blackboard. Moreover even his body wasn't in his control. It was as if it had grown a will of its own.
The only part he could slightly move from time to time were his eyes. When he had looked down a little while ago, he had noted an illuminated lurid line running from his feet and out the door of the classroom. From his peripheral view, he could also make out this line outside the window, running down the hill to God knows where.
But what actually made him as agitated as he was at the moment were the lines constantly appearing over his head. He had got a glimpse of them in the reflection of the cracked glass panels of the windows. After which whenever he retained control over his eyes he would look at any reflective surface to discern the words clearly. He got some idea overtime.
Over the top of his head, words were written in bold and sharp writing,
[White lies]
Underneath this were a set of very eye-catching letters,
[Chapter 4]
He hadn't gotten a good view of the rest of what was being written. One because apart from the first two titles that remained constant and unchanging, the next appearing set of words kept changing as soon as a sentence got completed. And second, when he sat down on the seat he lost control over his eyes as well and they got firmly fixed upon the picture of the girl in the photo.
Though he wasn't certain of his hypothesis however from what little glimpses he got of the writing, he believed that the changing sentences over his head had been explaining all his actions from the time he got here to the current minute.
And that had him worried. If what he suspected was true, there were two extremely absurd however highly likely possibilities that he could deduce from the current situation. Either he was dictating the words or the words were dictating him. He really wanted it to be the former and not the latter.
But if it was the latter, which it most certainly was, then that meant some serious trouble. It would explain entirely, his disability to control his own movements until this point.
While he was trying his best to discern the situation, at that moment the worn down door of the classroom creaked open albeit hesitantly, grabbing his attention. However he couldn't raise his head to look at the person who just entered.
From the clacking of heels however, he could guess it was a girl. She had stopped in her track for a second before her movements continued as she walked towards the table he was sitting at.
She gently placed down a bouquet of flowers over the table next to the one he had placed before she stretched out her palm towards him as she gently inquired,
"When did you return, Ezra?"
"I have no obligation to tell you anything."
"Right. Of course. May I have the photo for a second?"
His body didn't comply with her gesture of request for the photo. He held onto the photo frame even tighter and moved it away from her in obvious rejection.
"Miss Alicia Heathers. All these years that I've been away, have you been constantly coming here? What shameless behaviour really."
He spoke, voice laced with unconcealed mockery and loathing, as his head raised to meet the women's eyes. When he did however, he wasn't able to appreciate her prepossessing looks, neither was he able to make do of the obvious hurt and anger in her eyes, he was only concerned with the almost translucent, holographic blue lines suspended over her head.
It was titled the same as his own, even the subtitle was the same. And just like his own set of writings, hers was also continuously changing. And each set of newly appearing sentences, without question, not only explained her own actions but also his'. Before Ezra could dwell further upon the matter, the girl spoke while retrieving her hand,
"Yes. I fear I might forget her face if I don't at least pay her a visit on her birthday."
Ezra let out a harsh chuckle at that. The attitude was incredibly rude.
"I originally own this photo. I can take it back at any- wow I sound so pathetic."
Heavy silence fell over the two. The awkward silence gnawed at Alicia's conscience. For some reason, he heard her speak loudly, irritation dripping from every word,
"Right, but ever since you decided to frame it and leave it here, you were clearly leaving it for the others to come and pay their respects from time to time from what I can tell. So what does it have to do with you now anyways? Are you-
She paused mid sentence and quickly pulled out her phone from her jacket pocket as she aggressively typed into it and showed it to Ezra,
Are you still carrying a torch for her or something? Is that clogging your judgement?
She continued to speak in her irritated tone after,
"Stop this foolish behaviour Ezra. Please, she is-
"Gone? Yeah, believe me, I know. Had I not witnessed it with my own two eyes. No matter how awake I am, I just can't understand how you, of all people, can so easily mention that. Truly impressive, Heathers."
His words seemed to have truly irked her, yet she didn't attempt to contradict him. Instead, she remained silent, her expression contorted in clear distaste, teeth biting at her lower lip, and eyebrows deeply furrowed. Her excessive reaction easily betrayed a sense of guilt.
Ezra sighed deeply, his voice somewhat hoarse as he spoke, "I'll give you the photo. I do not plan to take it away; I was just emotional for a second. Can't you see that it has not been moved from its place for such a long time? I don't plan on doing so, even if I now know that you have been visiting this place as well."
Hearing his words, surprise and suspicion flashed across her face as she cautiously inquired,
"Seems quite unlike you from what I know of your personality. What is it that you want in return?"
"Am I that petty?"
"Yes, and you tend to act before you think at times. You are also very rude and cannot act civil for the life of you when faced with people you hold a grudge against. But that is only my opinion of you. You must be better than that."
Those thoughtful words caused Ezra to chuckle involuntarily, surprising even himself. He quickly cleared his throat, adopting a disapproving tone.
"Be more cautious with your words, Heathers. Just type them out; are you too lazy to do that? What if you cause me trouble?"
Alicia stared at him intently, carefully observing his every expression. She cautiously inquired, "So? What do you want?"
"Lie for me just once more," he replied without hesitation. His voice carried a strain, as if he had made the request on a whim.
Alicia seemed taken aback for a moment before her expression shifted to one of mild astonishment and pity. "Just how many times are we gonna go through this, Ezra? No matter what we do, the dead can never come back. Just when will you learn?"
"Shut up, I know... But, just this once..."
"Huh?"
"Just this once. I am well aware it's useless, however I am tired now. I am ready to forget. So if it fails this time as well... I will give up."
"Are... Are you serious?"
"I don't have anything else to say to you. Please just lie this once and get it over with. I don't know about you, but I can't handle this anymore... So please Heathers."
Alicia appeared taken aback by his instant change in attitude. His tone was laced with clear distress and pleading. In the past, when he made such requests, he almost presented them as imperial edicts she was not allowed to reject at any cost. However, this time, he was begging in his own way, despite the haughty tone.
Ezra could discern the surprise in Alicia's expression and her narration of his past behavior from the passage being written over her head and likely over his own.
He heard her sigh before she looked at him with a face devoid of all emotions, her voice so dull it seemed akin to reading a passage. Alicia spoke,
"Micaela Wintour is alive."