Page 9 of Shadowed With Fear

So, that’s it then. The ex-Pre-Law kid is charismatic. Makes sense. Gotta rub elbows in that world.

I open my notebook to the front page. The crisp paper brings a whole new sense of joy. There is just something about new school supplies that gives you this false hope that you’ll have the best year ever.

The slideshow in the front of the hall has the bolded title of “Hidden in Sight”.

Note to self: have a theme.

“So, this is my work,” Ethan shoots a smirk to us all. “I, personally, wouldn’t be saying it’s example worthy, but here we are.

“I wanted to focus on things in our city that people are typically blind to. It can be scenic routes, abandoned areas, or even histories many aren’t aware of.”

He continued to talk through each photo with an in-depth explanation of what the truth of the image was. I took ten pages of notes. Despite the guy’s plainness, he really has an eye. Especially one photo that stood out to me.

His shadow falls upon a grassy knoll. The way it is placed makes it seem as if he isn’t a shadow at all but just a dark figure lying, staring into the cloudless sky. It’s…strangely a beautiful shot. The kind that would make statements in coming-of-age films, or the critically acclaimed dramas that get all of the awards.

However, he doesn’t say much about it. I raise my hand just before he skips to the next slide, and my action takes him off guard. Ethan’s eyes widen a fraction, but the movement is almost too small for me to catch before his boyish smile returns.

“Yes, uh, I’m sorry. What’s your name?” He smiles politely at me.

“Dahlia Beckett.” I smile in return. I clear my throat a bit, “I apologize for interrupting your presentation, but I was hoping you could talk a bit more on this particular shot. The feel is very cinematic, and I was hoping you could explain your creative process, or even where you got the inspiration for setting it this way?”

“Thank you for your questions, Dahlia. For this image I wanted to portray a sense of loss, self-awareness, but also, how fleeting moments are,” he states, turning to the rest of the class. “Isn’t there a sort of beauty found in mortality? Looking to the sky, you truly see how small and unimportant we all seem, but I suppose that’s what makes life so,” he pauses, raking a hand down his jaw in thought, “precious.”

The boy glances back at me, a ponderous expression in his eyes, but he continues on as if he had never been interrupted in the first place.

His words hold a lot of truth and rawness that I hadn’t expected to get from him, or even today for that matter. It’s hard to forget that we are temporary, and even harder to remember that living as if we aren’t is the only way to make what little time we have fulfilling. My mom always talked of living each day in a way that if we were to die tomorrow, we would have no regrets.

And as I sit here for the next forty-five minutes, listening to Ethan and Professor Logan discuss the semester’s syllabus and expectation, I can’t help but think I have let her down. I’ve been hiding. Shying away from the hurt, the pain, the euphoria, and the fear of life. Only going through the motions expected of me, an obligation to perform human. I can’t keep doing it anymore. If not for Brahm, Liz, or me, then I should for her, and the time that was taken from her won’t be wasted.

* * *

There seems to be an unspoken rule that all the spooky bitches immediately know when the first autumn leaf hits the ground. In that moment, clarity befalls, and life is just instantly better. It does not matter that today for some God-awful reason it’s 94°, blaring sun, no shade, and not a single breeze to be found, but I just know the chilly fall days are near.

A smile begins to form at the corners of my lips. I get most people are huge fans of summer. I’m cool with it. Beach days, no school, campfires, cook outs. I mean there are lots of great things happening between June and August. But there’s nothing in this world like the chilling bite of a foggy October morning, when the crows caw softly in the distance and there’s a crunch beneath each step. It’s the only time I truly feel alive. And given the year I’ve had; I could use a bit of living right now.

“The Founder’s Festival is tomorrow. Are you sure you don’t want to go? I know the rides are kind of shitty, but like Cheezy Truck is setting up a booth. I heard they’re launching a new item just for the festival,” Liz sing-songed the same tune she had all week. We sat in the midst of organized chaos—aka the Commons Plaza, right in the heart of campus, the one place that everyone has to cross through to get to any point they need to go.

“Hmm. You’re driving a hard bargain. How could I not want to go to a half assed carnival with extremely overpriced food and rides that’re so crowded it takes me twenty minutes to walk fifteen feet? Of course, I would want to go when my alternative is watching The Twilight Zone and making my Browniezilla recipe and not wearing pants. Such a great use of my time.”

She glared.

No one said a word.

“Smartass.” She coughed, thumping her chest and shooting me a smug ass grin.

“Prick.” My smile was just as smug.

Our friendship was unlike any other. Half the time, people assume we hate each other. But our love language is talking shit.

“Just come with me. Even if it’s for like an hour. I don’t want to go alone, and I really don’t want to not do anything the first weekend of the semester.”

“Liz, every time I go out and do something with you, something bad happens.”

“Pshht, nuh uh.”

“Liz. Yeah, huh. Every time.”

“Name one time— “