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Subject: Title story: "Mindscape 2" Author: Arnora Dunestan 112581302
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Date: Sun, 22 Jul 2007 04:03:55 +0000
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Mindscape 2
Waiting for her professor has held her up. She glances at her watch, noting that
she is already late, and an uncomfortable knot begins to form in her stomach.
She shifts her weight back and forth on her feet, knowing that there may be a
proverbial hell to pay for her lateness. Outside the window of the classroom,
the sky has been growing steadily darker, and there is a slow bowing of the
naked branches against the cold panes of glass. Only one question, she thinks.
One simple question, can't we take care of it now?
But the professor is still engaged in slow conversation with one of her fellow
students, and the panic is beginning to build. Her eyes seem riveted on the
lashing trees beyond the glass, visible only in the tiny area of light from
within. Her mind unconcsiously follows as the rough, wet bark whips back and
forth, driven by a wind which menaces in silence, as if trying to break away the
branches of the tree by sheer force of will, tormenting the tree by throwing
anything and everything against its unyielding exterior.
She is willing to wait no longer. Her pack dangles from her elbow as she
shoulders her coat into place and runs from the room. The student and the
professor stare after her in surprise she is not normally given to frantic
outbursts of energy, nor to the sort of almost panicked impatience she has
shown. But she is gone.
Running across campus, her coat still open to the wind, she utters her silent
prayers that she is not so late as to be facing dire consequences. How she
wishes she only knew! Too much, too fast, but as she skips around the icier
parts of the path, something buried deep within her mind tells her that she
wouldn't walk away now if she could. She is committed she must stay to the
logical end.
Amused, he looks away from the clock above the vending machines, and settles
back into his chair. He passes on this hand, waiting for his partner to call,
and idly shuffles the cards between his fingers. She is late, he muses, and I
have been more than patient. Playing out the rest of the hand is done with only
a small part of his attention. Half an eye is kept on the clock half an ear on
the hallway outside. Most of his attention, however, is several floors above. A
mysterious smile passes over his face, and he trumps the cards currently on the
table, much to the dismay of his opponents but then again, surprise has always
been one of his better weapons. The smile widens as he picks up the sound of
someone running in the hallway outside the Math Lounge, and , sure enough, she
appears. A moment is necessary to savour her: her face has been rouged by the
cold, and the wind has seen fit to re-dress her hair, which now sweeps wildly
around her face. She stops immediately inside the doors to the lounge,
desperately trying to catch her breath and push the frightened, hunted look
from her eyes, which find him before they can change the expression. Her mouth
falls open in surprise inadvertantly, she glances around the lounge, as if
searching for some way to avoid him. They both know, however, that such is not
really the case.
He enjoys the discomfort his appraisal seems to be causing her she is still
standing by the door, uncertain of what to do next. Hesitantly, she takes a few
steps towards one of the other seating areas to wait for him to finish his game.
He clears his throat. She freezes, knapsack slipping to her hand as she turns
back to him, eyes wide. With a nod of his head, he indicates a space next to him
on the floor by his chair, then locks his eyes into hers as she approaches. When
she takes to long deciding what to do next, he puts a hand over the crotch of
her pants and tugs not-so-gently downward. "Sit," he says simply. "You know
how." She looks at the others who are seated around the table there are perhaps
eight of them, including him, and although they all regard her from time to time
with great interest, no one speaks to her. She begins to wonder if they are used
to this from him.
Slowly, trying not to meet anyone's eyes, she settles herself on the floor next
to his chair, bum on her heels, knees spread slightly apart. Here she hesitates
again, unwilling to raise her hands to her neck. This is public, she thinks. I
am on display for people I go to school with. There are very few others in the
lounge this late in the afternoon, and for that, she is greatful those who do
still loiter regard her with surprise. One or two whisper to their friends and
gesture in her direction. Blushing, she turns her gaze away, and happens across
his expectant stare. One eyebrow cocks in an unspoken statement of waiting.
Grudgingly, she places her hands behind her neck, taking a moment to clear the
hair from her collar.
Absently, as he reaches for the next hand being dealt, he reaches out to give
her right breast a forceful squeeze. She gasps softly, and turns away ...
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