The Heart is Fickle As Well

Susannah took her coffee and left, completely grounded. The sudden drop from cloud nine to below sea level had winded her and as she walked she caught her breath. In came in icy shudders. She felt lower than the ground. In fact, she wanted to shrink even more, to be a tiny worm, slinking out into the cold air, unnoticed.

Her tears froze on her cheeks. The gray of the day, promising snow, matched the grief in her heart. She considered herself unworthy of love. She must be to be so unsuccessful at relationships.

She took a sip from her styrofoam cup. The hot liquid burned her tongue. Stupid coffee! She didn't need it! It wasn't like she was tired now. She plodded angrily to class. Professor Simms didn't like his students to be late.

The classroom was uncomfortably warm. She shed her coat and emptied her tote of the text and notebook she needed for class. No one was here. The empty room echoed with her every movement. The silence abated her anger. It was a great accompaniment to the thoughts in her head. Thoughts that she dare not voice, because in her anger she said things she knew were untrue. If she voiced them she would give them life and power to perhaps become reality. So she kept them buried; swallowed them up.

The door opened and a second student arrived. Tall, cloaked in a long black coat and red scarf, ruddy cheeks and windswept straw hair, he was not noticed before by Susannah. She quickly scanned him and looked down at her books. He silently took a seat to her left. Susannah could sense his every move and felt extremely self-conscious about her own blushing cheeks.

"Excuse me, but would you happen to have a pen? I seemed to have misplaced mine." He sheepishly asked, effectively breaking the ice.

"Sure. I always have a spare." Susannah met his alarmingly blue eyes and smiled.

The End

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