Burvington Preparatory Academy of Excellence.
Home of the "Burlie" Boys.
The richest , said to be strongest and some of the most genius minds in all of Great Britain. Home to the 4 most powerful boys (and then some) . They do, say and be who the...
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HE WAS SURE HE WOULD NOT SHOW UP.
But they waited regardless.
He would be kind enough to wait a bit, but if by then he did not arrive,
well,
the best way to save apples in a bunch , is to rid the rotting one.
April in Methven was beautiful for sure. The hills were more than alive, they thrummed with vibrancy. The flowers swayed with grace at the blowing zephyrs.
The wind blew against his hair and the sun disappeared behind the clouds. The grass underneath him was still very wet. April Showers were not a mere saying here in the quaint hills of Methven Hollow. But something that followed through no matter what.
His umbrella was a maroon colour, dark and drenched with the rain. The droplets dripped down onto the ground and soaked the earth underneath him.
A low whistle escaped his lips as he spun his umbrella.
He checked his clock once more.
"He'll be here." he spoke out into the wood.
To him, the woods were loud and speaking. Wailing and thrashing in their fixed states, from the flowers to the trees, to the bark of wood and leaves, they all begged to silence his voice so that the others may not hear him.
But the message was received.
"He's too desperate not to be. Desperation drives out sanity and expels rationale" he spoke louder than before. Confident, certain.
A liar.
To the untrained ear, only the the birds song and the wings taking flight returned his message.
But him,
him, being well versed in other - more... intangible practices could hear.
