DARK DEEDS

THE SEASON OF AUTUMN came with the wind. That wind swept across Italy like the angel of death.

It then laid to rest upon the wet soil a bed of leaves which cascaded from the trees down to their ruin under the feet of mere senior students like me.

We flock to our damnation that is the examination in the hall hours before time.

There is a monotonous melancholic mood about the air — it worsens as we mount the stone-cemented staircase.

“You know — It scares me to think about the fact that our hopes and dreams rest in the hands of a man we do not even know outside the confines of the classroom.” My best friend Isabella breaks the silence with her words.

“From what I heard—” A classmate besides us chimes into the conversation “—The man made his own wife fail and repeat the course thrice if not four times.”

“Did she pass in the end?” Isabella leans in.

“No — she committed suicide in the end.” The classmate responds.

The people around us stare at her in shock — some even bombard her with questions. Isabella is about to do the same when I pull her from the crowd.

She does not seem to mind as much as she is scared.

For a moment she stares out onto the lawns that present themselves over the balcony where we lean.

Her voice comes out small. “If he can do that to his own wife — who he had an actual emotional connection to — what more can he do to us whose names he does not even care to know?”

“Come on Isabella. You of all people could not have fallen for the sensationalism of a literature student high on weed and wuthering heights.”

“What if it is more than sensationalism?”

“Then too bad for his wife. We are not her and we can never be her. We have a plan.” I make that as clear as can be but she still has her doubts.

“What if our plan fails? And if our plan fails — we fail and I cannot afford to fail Carina.

It would mean all the sweat and tears I have shed to pursue Journalism were for nothing!”

Just as I am about to respond, an older man opens the door to the hall. “Make three lines. STEM students in the 1st line, Literature and Journalism students in the 2nd line and the rest fall in the 3rd line.”

That is how Isabella and I separate but not before I whisper. “Remember the plan.”

I stand in the 1st line with the otherSTEMstudents and we all seem to think the same. One of the classmates decides to speak their mind — “It makes no sense how we have to take philosophy with the rest of these literature losers when we could be doing things relevant to our studies.”

I know that voice. In fact I would know it even amid a choir of chaos. It is his voice — Ricco.

I freeze in place and I remain in that position until it is time for me to be searched. The search is quick and I am thankful for that.

The last person I want to see before the exam is the idiot that caused me severe heartache.

I let out a breath of relief once I am let in. I do not even look back — I instead focus on the plan and head for the seats next to the journalism students.

Isabella finds me there and takes a seat next to me. I smile but the smile is short lived when Ricco takes a seat behind us.

Isabella looks to me and I know what she thinks — Ricco shall without a doubt snitch on us. I mouth — “But we have no choice.”

She is about to respond when the supervisor shouts — “Silence.”

In no time the question papers are handed to us and all I see is gibberish made flesh in form of a philosophy exam.

Question one states – ‘To believe that P is to be prepared to act as if P, when it matters whether P. Discuss.’

Who the hell is P? and what do I have to do in a discuss with P? Did we even learn this?

I look around the room and from the looks of it we did learn about P.

All the other students in view have their pens in hand and write about this p-person.

I look around the room before I whisper to Bella. “Who the hell is P?”

“P denotes a preposition.”

“What is a preposition?”

Just when Isabella is about to tell me Ricco raises his hand. I tense as the supervisor heads towards us. “Of what assistance could I be Mr Matamoros?”

Ricco whispers words I cannot make out but it soon becomes as clear as noon when the supervisor comes between Isabella and I. “Minus 30 marks on both those papers.”

The supervisor turns to Isabella. “I expected better, Miss Roberts.”

With that he continues his descent down the narrow path between desks. Red-faced Isabella turns her back on me. I make one last quieter attempt. “Bella. What is a preposition?”

“I do not know.” She lies and so do I as the ink of the pen touches the blank exam paper. Just like that the exam ends and autumn break begins.

We diffuse out of the exam room and into the vacant hall. I search for Ricco but when I do see the top of his brown head it is downstairs in the car park.

“Ricco!” I scream but he does not even do as much as look back.

All his attention is fixed on the black car that pulls up in front of him.

The windows are tinted darker than is permissible I presume but that does not stop him. He hops into the car before it drives off in a flash.

“I am worried about him.” I tell Isabella as we head out of campus.

“You should be more worried about our results! 30 marks is a lot and had he not deducted those 30 marks I would have at least scored 90 and above. Now I have to settle for a 70 and where will a 70 take me?”

“To Graduation?” I propose.

“But I want more than that. I want to be the best.”

“You are the best and that is the reason we are best friends. Now can we forget about school and think about what it is we shall do for autumn break?”

“I have schoolbooks to read. You have a ballet audition on top of schoolbooks to read.”

“You are such a bore. We should find rich Italian boyfriend’s who can spoil us.”

“I have parents who spoil me.” Isabella points out.

“I have a grandmother who shouts and whatever the case I shall find a RIB(Rich Italian boyfriend) that can purchase all the stuff I need for the ballet audition.”

“Good luck.” Isabella remarks before she pushes the café door open.

The bell chimes above us before not one but two familiar faces come into view — Simone and Jasmine.

A few customers are scattered around the place — most of whom are familiar to me — Businessmen and women if not retirees or abandoned rich old people. Same old same old.

I want someone new. Someone hot like the drinks served here.

“Carina!” Simone waves me over. I smile before Isabella and I head on over to the counter. “How was the exam?”

“Horrible. I do not even think I scored as much as a 50.” I share and melt into one of the seats.

“Perhaps you were not made for school.” Jasmine enters the conversation. “Just drop out.”

“I wish. Grandma would murder me if I did.”

“Not if you beat her to it.” Jasmine smirks.

“Do not listen to her. She is mad.” Simone tells me.

“No. I am Jasmine and I shall make us all coffee!” She flips her brunette hair aside and leaves.

“I admire her. She is her own person whereas I am but a composition of all the people I have ever known and loved. Is that bad?”

“No but comparison is bad. It makes us hate ourselves and others too. You should refrain from it understood?” Simone pierces me with her stare.

“Understood.”

“Great. Now shall we have some coffee?” Simone smiles. I turn to Isabella who is pulled apart from us with a frown. She feels left out.

“Isabella and I have somewhere to be.” I lie. “We shall have our coffee toGO.”

I fumble with the sweater I have on before I take out some euros.

“No. We talked about this last time.” Simone tells me.

“I know but—”

“No.” Jasmine intrudes. “Go to fashion Nova tomorrow. There shall be a 50% off sale.”

“Fine.” I let out to the discontentment of Isabella.

She makes that as clear as can be once we head out of the café and she tosses her coffee in the trash.

“What was that for?”

“I do not like those plastic bitches.”

“What about them is plastic? You are mad that neither Simone nor Jasmine care about you.”

“I would rather that than have them feel bad for me!”

“Simone and Jasmine do not feel bad for me!”

“Then what do you call it when someone hands out free drinks from their expensive cafe because they know you cannot afford it but pretend you can?” She crosses her arms.

“I do not pretend.”

She scoffs. “You do. Face it Carina.”

I do the exact opposite when I turn around and walk ahead of her. That however does not stop her.

“You cannot fake it forever! You cannot run forever either.”

I take a deep breath in an attempt to keep the temper at a minimal. I can feel it but I must contain it.

I put air pods on to block all the noise out. I do not take them off even as I approach the road that crosses over to 25th avenue.

I turn around to face Isabella. “You know what? The moment I set foot on campus I shall to march to the administration and demand another room! I do not want to share a room with a bitch of a best friend.”

I watch her lips move but I do not hear due to the music from the air pods. I smile at that as I walk backwards.

An expression of shock crosses her features before she makes a run towards me.

I am confused until I look left and see an out-of-control bus skid in front of me. The coffee splatters to the tarred road before I freeze in place like the dark clouds above. This is it — this is how I die.

I wait for the impact but it never comes. Not to me at least. The driver swerves the bus in the other direction.

Open-mouthed I watch as the bus hits into an expensive black car parked under a tree. The same car Ricco stepped into.

I take out the air pods and the sound of the outside world rushes towards me. First the screams of Isabella and then the scream of Ricco who storms out of the hardware store.

“What the hell man.” Ricco screams before he tosses the bus driver out of the car. “That car costs more than both our pathetic lives! I am dead meat if the boss hears of this. Give me £10000 or your life.”

“Please. I do not have that kind of cash. I am no more than a driver. Please.” The driver kneels down. “I have a wife and children. Please.”

“Please?” Ricco chuckles as he lifts the man at the collar. “You are dead old man.”

With that he delivers punch after punch to the old man. I turn to Bella. “We have to help the old man.”

“We?” Isabella raises her brow. “I am not about to confront Ricco. He is your ex — not mine.”

“Isabella come on. At least film it in case.”

“In case of what?”

“Just film and call the police.” With that I leave.

“Ricco! Stop!” I scream as I ran over to the scene. I smell the metallic blood before I even see it ooze out of the old man. Ricco does not seem to mind as he continues his violent assault. “Ricco! Please!”

“Get out of here Carina.” Ricco shouts in response. He does not even bother to look at me. How could I have dated such a person? Tears prick at me but I wipe them off when resentment takes over.

“No! Leave him alone!” I take a hold of Ricco and attempt to pull him off the man but he pushes me to the pavement.

I hit the pavement head first before the world spins around me. I rub the skin there and feel a wetness.

Blood. I realize even before Isabella runs towards me and blows her cover.

Ricco sees her and sees her phone too. He marches towards us and takes the phone from Isabella.

He throws it to the pavement and steps on it until it is but a cracked mess. While he is at it I look at the old bus driver lifeless on the pavement.

“What did you do?” I whisper as tears make their descent down to the pavement.

I do not know who or what the tears are for but all I know is that police sirens fill the air at that moment.

Ricco looks confused. He wants to run but he looks to the car and decides otherwise. He looks at Isabella and I and makes his words clear. “This was an accident. Understood?”

“No.”

“No?” He chuckles. “You have no proof.”

“I do.” I scramble for the phone on the pavement. He is about to take it but the police pull up.

I stand as the police approach us.

“What happened here?”

“Car accident.” Ricco is quick to respond.

I counter Ricco. “Car accident? You beat him to death.”