“In chapter two, Dickens matches the weather outside with the mood inside the carriage. What has he used?” Professor Smith smiled as he looked over the class, thumping A Tale of Two Cities against his palm.
Hands went up; almost every one in the class. Every one except Johnny’s.
“Mister Worschester?”
Johnny gave a deep sigh and straightened up in his seat. “Pathetic fallacy.”
“A fine job, Mr. Worschester. You are absolutely correct.” Professor Smith said as he turned to the chalk board. Johnny saw the look of disbelief on his face before he finished turning. The boy felt an uncontrollable smile on his lips, and he quickly ran his tongue along his top teeth to cover it up.
The professor began scribbling in his perfect handwriting on the board. Something about themes. But Johnny didn’t care. He found his mind drifting back to the window. He’d never let his mind drift before. He’d never been taught to daydream, but he did as he twirled his pencil. He did as he marked up his paper. He did as Professor Smith called his name once, twice, and slammed the book on his desk at the third time.
“Please excuse me, Professor,” Johnny looked up at him, terrified. “I’m not feeling my best.”
“Very well,” The professor said sternly. He had never seen Johnny so vacant before. He assumed something really was wrong. “You may take no more than five minutes. Write yourself a hall pass and I will sign it before you go.”
Johnny nodded and quickly scrawled out a note. Professor Smith dated and verified it. The time was added as well, ensuring compliance to his words. The boy nodded a thank you, managed to make his face look a bit green, and dashed out the door.
The corridors were empty, not a hall monitor to be seen. Saint Anthony’s didn’t need them; they kept their boys in check. The restrooms at either wing of the school were empty as well. The boys had learned to go at home, or hold it, or risk being late or lectured. As a result, toilets were clean enough to eat out of.
Johnny was the first boy in the east wing restroom in a week. There was no stench in the air, no inch of tile soiled. He pressed himself against the wall, and sunk down to the floor. He actually didn’t feel well, he soon discovered, when he found himself flinging a stall door open.
And what to his retching surprise did he see, but a boy of his own age out of uniform, his brown hair shaggy and wild, his eyes even more reckless... eyes of hazel like the ones that he saw in the photographs when he looked upon the room past his porthole... eyes like the ones he saw in the mirror every morning.
With vomit and saliva dripping from his chin and lips, he studied the horrified face that looked at him. He couldn’t be real, Johnny decided. He looks too much like me. His face, his features, his body are identical to mine.
He pushed the other boy out of the way to throw up in the toilet this time. They both looked at each other with the same disgusted expression. Then Johnny looked at his watch. His five minutes were up. They had been for a while now. He didn’t bother rushing. The penalty would be the same if he arrived back now or in three years. He crawled out of the stall through his own excrement, weak from the past minute. He shut the door with his foot, and pulled himself up to the sink to wash himself off.
When he turned to open the stall door again, the mysterious boy had gone. Johnny had heard no movement but his own as he cleaned up. He looked around the restroom. There was no trace that he had been there at all. Not even a footprint in the vomit.
“I’m sicker than I thought,” Johnny muttered, and he pushed open the door of Saint Anthony’s Private Academy For Boys, and walked out.
Thank you so much!!! AerisVampire
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