The man’s body thunked on the floorboards not unlike a sack of potatoes.

Mary’s locks fluttered on the air as she rushed over to him. There was a certain grudge in her eyes when she felt for his pulse.

“What was that?” she threw back over her shoulder.
“It’s called violence, Maribel. It works very well.”
“You’ve watched too many films!”
I slipped the baton back under my belt. “You’ve watched too few.”

What concerned me more than our cinematographic record was how long he’d be out. Not long enough, I reckoned. He looked thirty, or right unto – that meant fully grown – but moreover he wasn’t human. We could have had minutes, or so little as seconds. The best to hope was he’d stay stunned after coming to. More important he doesn’t get underfoot as we found for what we’d come. He wouldn’t hit a person – is what we’d been told; but there wasn’t a word for him not returning a blow. We had to move.

I danced around his spilled robes and leapt over the counter. The door to the back stood in my way, so I gave it a whack with the back of the fist. It swung aside for me quite politely.

The storeroom was a mess if it had a ceiling and a floor. Although I shouldn’t wager on the latter. I elbowed my way through racks of nylon costumes and discarded anatomy models, whipping my head left to right – and again – looking for the reason of this entire chance.

“Only what we’ve come for!” I heard Mary voice her proviso.

She didn’t trust me. I could all but understand her. There were many things would have fetched my attention, had we not been pressed for time. I kicked a broken 80s printed circuit board out of my path and scanned on. It had to be somewhere. Not like anything doesn’t, mind, but I held on to my knickers.

And there we were. Jackpot. I snatched it into my bag and made back for the front.


Mary was there, nursing the blacked-out man with a hand and a lap. Upon seeing me emerge she tensed.

“Do you have it?”
I shot her a grin. “I wouldn’t?”
Mary exhaled. “You’re much too relaxed about this. We could have talked our way through this. We could have...”
“Talking takes time, Maribel. That’s something we lack, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Right.” She let the man’s head slide to the floor. Then she found her feet. She had two feet like – and where – everybody else, but I saw how they could’ve gotten lost in all her skirts and frills. “Now what?”
“Now,” I said, “all that remains is to vacate the premises. Then we should be—”

A crash outside took away my voice. There was rustling of feet. Several. Shouting. A farewell committee. Or a farewell firing squad, to be more like.

“Now what?” said Mary, visibly queasy about being shot goodbye.

They were massing around the entrance. Two persons, three, four. The porch windows were crowded with shadows. The man had fans. A fifth was going around, slamming the ground-floor windows close from the outside – cutting us off. We were being penned in, and the only escape route was straight through the thick of them.

I ripped my baton out.

“What are you doing?!” Mary exploded.
“The sole thing left to do.”
“They’ve got magic!”
“It’s magic versus science.” I slapped the baton on my free palm. “You want to place a bet?”
“I don’t...”
“Too bad, I’m your only horse.” I gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Now, Maribel, don’t give me those eyes. You know what I say.”
“We’ll be cool...”
“Yes, we’ll be cool.” I gathered her dress up in a bunch and pushed it into her hands. “You hold on to your skirts and you shouldn’t trip. And try to stay behind me. As soon as we’re outside the fence – we fly.”
“All right.” She wasn’t sure of it the first time, so she said it a second. “All right.”
“Good girl. Now keep up. I’m taking the door. Three, two, one...”

And slam.


I remembered the day I’d accidentally opened a door on one of my childhood friends. We’d been playing that hide-and-seek-with-a-twist game: you had to catch the hiders before they were “out;” I’d been hiding. I’d figured I’d stayed enough in one spot, and best if I should switch around a bit. And I’d thought I’d best be about it quick.

Luck had it one of my friends had been standing just without the door through which I’d elected to charge. I remembered the shriek I’d heard then. The sensation when the door caught and crunched their shoulder. The terrible feeling of guilt and urgent need to blame it on another. Children.

What I felt now was more akin to a thrill of excitement.


We dashed past the confusion faster than the scream of pain could die out. Mary kept pace; I almost felt her breath on my neck. We made through the garden as fast as our legs would take us. There were more screams behind. I wondered – just briefly – whose arm I’d cracked just then. But it made no matter. We were home-free. Almost.

Then I heard Mary break into a shrill cry.

I wanted to brake at once and jump to her rescue, but a hostile hand locked down on my shoulder. I remembered a poem I’d heard from the same friend some years later, when we were in school.

 Roses are red,
 Violets are twisted.
 Bend over, bitch.

“YOU’RE ABOUT TO GET FISTED!”


I’d broken bones that day.


» » »

 SEVERAL DAYS EARLIER


The clock rang three. Movement rose at the back of the room.

There was shuffling of feet. An almost audible crackling of strained willpower. And tension, awful tension all but about to snap. Maybe they meant to flood forward and crush the poor woman alive and were only waiting the right moment. You never knew with these types. Any way you tear it off, they weren’t about to settle down and listen.

At last, the lecturer closed her book, slowly... like a woman not entirely sure how to close a book. The pressure shattered as if by the touch of a magic wand. Breaths were released and textbooks shoved into handbags. A brave few took the liberty to stand and approach the door, to file out with a half-hearted “goodbye” recited in the same dutiful monotony you hear a world over. The rest followed suit. I did, too. The teacher remained staring down at her hands with an unspoken question, “Have I done something wrong?”

As I was past the doorstep, I gave her a silent nod.


The day coasted by in perfect summer sun. I walked out of the stifling walls, and into a world of blue sky and sounds, and students lounging on benches or naked grass, under trees, soaking in the sweet warmth. Summer. What a brilliant season to waste away rotting inside a musty classroom. Thankfully we were allowed respite every once in a while. This was where the respite happened.

I spotted a particularly happy pair paying court to a few tell-tale cans. I willed off the calling to go and make friends. I wasn’t made for friends anyway.

Friends were made for me.

“Hoho~i! Here!”

There she was. Calling me, hardly a day after I’d told her to spare me the needless attention.

I hopped over the “keep off the grass” sign and strolled over to where she’d seated herself passing time for me to arrive. The girl stood up and brushed her hair half an inch in a greeting.

Then she kissed my cheek. I made some pretence of doing the same.


Maribel smelt of strawberries.

There were days she’d wear other smells: vanilla or air freshener, strange spices or ginger-race, and sometimes a heady bouquet of sweat and deodorant. But most of the days you could count on her to remind you of plucking small fruit in a summer sun-blasted field. It might’ve been a peculiar smell (you’d think too sensual), but over time I’d learned not that bad. Who dislikes strawberries?

I backed away before she could catch me sniffing at her hair. Mary gave a little smile, as if she’d known anyway.

“How do you do?” was her question. “All good?”
“Good,” I murmured. “You?”
“A little weary, but yes otherwise. Anything to drink?” She motioned to her breakfast set. Mary was a breakfast club all on her own. “Tea? Water? You can have a bite, too.”
“A cup of liquid wouldn’t go a miss. Any liquid.”
“Tea then.”
“Let it be tea.”

She unscrewed the cap of her thermos and poured my share, whilst I crashed on the ground and tried to keep the light out of my eyes. Mary brushed my fingers handing the cup to me. She had the habit of touching. Anyone had yet to complain.

“Sandwich?” she offered.
“Pass.”

I tried the tea. Here, too, Mary’s taste in strawberries was clear in evidence. Sometimes I thought she’d do better as a gardener. Or a farmer. Why she’d dab her fingers in the stickiness of the human psyche instead was anyone’s guess. But that reminded me.

“What you got left?”
Mary considered. “One lecture, if I’m right.”
“When?”
“In ten. Forty minutes today. The teacher’s leaving early for... for something.”
“She’s making a new custom, is she?”

Mary’s little smile paid another visit to her lips. I wondered if her lipstick was strawberry, too.

“Perhaps. I’ve not heard anyone noising it about too much – meaning, they don’t mind. Nor do I. That course isn’t too engaging either way. I had something like it last year. It’s just repeating material. What about you?”
I swallowed before replying. “Free. Done for today, and if heavens allow, for the rest of the week as well. I can’t suffer this weather. It’s making our classrooms all... stuffy. And then you’ve got all those people breathing my air...”
“You’ve a bright outlook as always, don’t you?” Mary smiled again, just for me. “So, how about it? Why don’t you come along?”
“Where?”
“To my lecture, dummy.”
“Ah...”

I’d had “experiences” with Mary’s lectures, you’ll understand.

“Well... What is it, anyway?” I asked.
“General psych. You’ll probably find it more interesting than I.”
“Where?”
“Hall A. Mine.”

Meaning not far. There was the convenience of Mary’s and mine buildings being near each other; sometimes I thought only that was why our coversance still stood so fast. Yet, whereas mine was just as electrifying as you’d expect a college hall to be, Mary’s was a towering, twisted construction of glass and steel and marble, painted in all the insane colours: “a reflection of the human mind,” if you believed those who’d come up with the design. Theirs, maybe – I couldn’t take that away from them.

And there was air conditioning.


The downside was a lecture hall wasn’t the best place for a chat – there’s always someone talking over you, for one. Whether I went or no, our true goal would have to wait.

“Well?” Mary was wondering. “How’s it sound?”


[ ] “Sure. There’s someone in your group I wanted to get a closer look at anyway.”
[ ] “Thanks, but pass. I’ve got something to mull over. I’ll wait at the usual place.”

[ ] “Sure. There’s someone in your group I wanted to get a closer look at anyway.”

I'm liking this so far.

[x] “Sure. There’s someone in your group I wanted to get a closer look at anyway.”

I wonder if it's possible to stop the above scenario and I'm not sure how well that ends for them.

[x] “Sure. There’s someone in your group I wanted to get a closer look at anyway.”

[x] “Sure. There’s someone in your group I wanted to get a closer look at anyway.”