Salvador Dali: These Shadows CurseMature

"This attitude of yours!"

What attitude? Salvador was always eccentric, wasn't he? So, why shouldn't I?

I shut my eyes when he slams his palm onto my desk. My eye still pulses from Professor Hule's enraged swing in rebuttal to his bloody nose.

For a moment I only breathe, and when I peel my eyelids back, all I see is Professor Rougeau's inflamed face inches from my own.

"You," he glowers, and I meet his stare with one of my own. "Learn some respectfor you instructors. Do you think we enjoy dealing with self-absorbed, snotty brats all day? Especially you! Engaging in fist fights with your instructors and destroying school property. Your barbaric nature is just like your infamous original!"

I smile crookedly in response.Why, I believe that's a compliment and a job well done on your part.

Professor Rougeau sneers then pivots on his heels to face away from me, and I watch him attempt to calm himself. His hands clench as he draws his hands over his face. I regain my posture in my seat as I had slid down the back when had hovered over me.

Inwardly, I scoff at the result of my earlier outburst, still cracked and overturned from my upheaval an hour ago. It's just a desk, nothing to concern the other instructors. Or to call for the worst professor on campus. But then again, he's all talk.

"Mr. Dali, you've been asking too many unnecessary questions," he starts in a voice feigning calm.

"Martha is certainly necessary," I counter, crossing my arms over my chest, and immediately the spark of anger is back in his dark eyes.

"She was useless - a waste of perfectly viable funding. Who decided clones would need a mother? Ludicrous. Not to mention the trouble she always causes. Complaining about this and that, of overworking your talent and exploiting you lot. Exploitation, my ass!" He spits. "She was a hindrance to the extraordinary gifts you all possess. It's a blessing for her to be dealt with and gone. She's never coming back now-" The confession dies on his lips abruptly with a tight seal and he pauses, silent, and listens.

I have straightened up in my seat, pushing back my unruly hair to watch the furious blush rise, once again onto his temples and cheeks.

What does he mean by "dealt with"? Did they hurt Martha?

"What do you mean by-" but he has lunged at the door, snapping the lock open with a quick wrist and storming out into the hallway like a bull released from its pen.

His orders are direct and I can hear the scuffling of shoes scrambling to disappear down the hall after he dangerously lowers his voice.

He shuts the door softly after him and stands in front of my desk. I meet his raging glare with one of my own.

"To your room," he orders and I notice the clench in his jaw. "To your room, Mr. Dali," he repeats, this time a little more forceful when I don't move.

Slowly, I stand, eyes still locked. He steps back to let me through but I pause.

"If you hurt Martha, I swear I'll have my revenge."

He lets out a noise too short to be a chuckle and I flip my desk to drown out the sound.

"You're grounded!" he yells as I slam shut the classroom door behind me.

I suppose this is another sleepless night, I muse cynically, pulling up my coat to shield against the rain.

The End

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