Poeticitis

Blue isn’t a colour that should be able to burn.

This is the precise reason why when he marched over to me I knew I was in huge trouble. His face was red and his eyes were pink and watery with barely-contained tears and the blue was on fire and blazing at me.

My once-loyal group of friends dispersed as he backed me up against the locker and the bell rang. “What the hell did you think was going to happen?” He fumed at me, his hair covering his face.

“What’re you talking about?”

“The wings. The wings that sing have sung and the final bells have rung and now it’s over, son.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t really clear it up for me.”

His eyes were glazed over and blazing past me at the grey of the locker, as if he expected it to melt under pressure but he didn’t want it to. “I will miss the lies but I guess that’s the price because when you roll the dice that’s life and even though it hurts like a knife I’m glad you’ll never be my wife.”

“Terrence, I’m gay. We can’t get married yet in this country.” He grit his teeth and groaned,

“Foul tongue of the patriarchy is this, that would have any love reduced to mist? That would never have our minds turned into a mister and miss? That our love could never be smoothed over with a tender marital kiss?”

“Terrence, if you let me go I’m going to take you to the nurse, okay?” His body lost all semblance of the tenseness and he allowed me to take him by the hand and lead him down the deserted hall, though he still moaned and groaned and dragged his heels-

“Cruel irony of the establishment trying to contain me, instead it’s like they’re trying to strain me and making us feign that there is no such thing as ‘we’. Well, that’s the thing wherein we’ll catch the conscience of the king.”

“Ugh. God, Ter. We did Shakespeare last year.” We were just outside the door to the nurses office when he collapsed and cried,

“What malicious witches three lie behind that door in wait for me? What evil harkens towards my voice and would leave me with no love and no choice?”

Thankfully, Miss Calder poked her head around the door, looked at me and Terrence, and yelled back over her shoulder. “Madge! We’ve got another one.”

“Oh, bloody hell!”

They helped me carry Terrence to the nearest cot, though for once all five were occupied by people spewing couplets and rhyme. Little Katie Blanchard from year 8 was mewling, “Mitten the kitten was a good cat, at least she was until granny put her in a hat and that was that!”

Mark Ureleius looked kind of green, too- “Poison you say? I wish it had been that way! Nay, what I have had to-day is none other than the chicken flambé!”

I’m not even going to tell you what the other three were saying. The whole scene was pretty sickening, to be honest.

“They’ve all got a pretty bad case…” Miss Calder muttered. “We need to keep them isolated from the other pupils before it spreads and the entire student body starts breaking out in sonnets…”

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