Learning

flames. A hero waded towards her. Apples in front of a black moon. The ruffle of angels’ feathers. The blackness of a rotting harvest. Flames. A hand reaching for her.

    Sonja was abruptly awoken by her mobile phone beeping classical obscenities and she was even more startled when she saw it was John Bodhi calling her at this fucking time! Answering with as sleepy a ‘yes...’ as she could, she let John ramble on a bit before she asked him to call back later and put her phone off without waiting for an answer.

Nailed to the floor John stared at his phone overtaken with shock, which quickly changed into outright indignation. He slammed the phone on the hook. His face flushed red. She was nicer when she asked him to fix her tap and he didn’t even know her then! He left his house complaining and mumbling to himself and walked outside and shivered as the cold wind gushed through his brown leather jacket. With a frown he concealed his red eyes behind the dark red sunglasses he found on himself. The pavement was one big crowd. He started his walkman. “Born slippy”. The space cake started to kick in again. With a capacious grin he faced all the people passing him by, walking or cycling, and whenever he almost got run over, he grinned at the cars and busses. People looking at him, told themselves that the bugger must have a saint watching over him. If they would have asked John himself, he would have said with a chuckle that each music composer is a saint by his own right.

Garbled and still very sleepy Sonja tried to get back to sleep again, but failed despite her thoughts on ploughing and lands. Cursing loudly she crawled out of bed and set down again to put on some cloths that lay scattered in her room. A bit too gingerly for her own liking she checked her face in the mirror. With trembling hands she put on her make up as quavers ran down her back and with a wry smile she told her self to face the world before it would face you. Whatever it meant.

Uncertainly she checked her watch. Still in time for her third class today. Eagerly she lighted a cigarette, took some quick puffs, lifted her bag heavy with study books onto her back and dashed off for school. Hulking strides made their way. Sonja wondered what she did it for. Why did she even try? Get a fucking grip on yourself, Sonja! She told herself and threw her fag away several metres before the school entrance. She had potency in her life. Giving the world her smile again she stepped in. Her cigarette died slowly.

‘Zero!’ the teacher shouted and pointed his finger back to the door where Sonja came from. She hesitated which in turn stirred some of her fellow students. She quickly recognised a girl she hated from her guts, smiling of course. Others gave angry stares and judging eyes that spoke of a lack of compassion. If only people gave others the compassion they wished for themselves she thought lonely and slowly closed the door again. More dramatic then she cared for she leaned against the wall, put her head in her hands in regret and sighed. The world breathed in its own pace.

    Surprisingly quick and rash a short freckled girl jumped up from wherever she was sitting, totally upsetting the dazzled Sonja. She let out a short shout but quickly muffled it remembering the zero.

    ‘You startled me!’ she said friendly as her eyes took better notice of the beautiful eyes that returned her stare. Her own innocence seemed to shine near this young girl's craving dark eyes. Instead of giving the cheesy response Sonja was expecting, sensuous lips that knew the power of tenderness touched her slowly. It rang shivers in her mind down to the end of her spine; in the background she heard the song If I had a hammer… And felt it hit her. The freckled Irish girl was stronger then Sonja could have guessed for her height, and in a wonderful sweep she carried a smiling Sonja away into a more private part of the building. Pleasure was Sonja’s first goal in life and her bag of books lay quietly waiting to be sowed.