The Final Stroke of Twelve

Chapter 3

Their juvenile chortle filled the morning air with life that bounced off of the walls, shimmering with radiance and innocent beauty was abruptly interrupted by a Damsel in distress.

"Could you at least pretend to act your age?" Sneered Cleo, without even looking up from his bowl of cereal

In absolutely no interest to engage her brother in a meaningless conversation Faven addressed her friend

"Shall we?" Taking Kendra's hand they were almost out of the house and Ken gasped at the realization.

"YOU are skipping breakfast?"

And even before Fay could process that information there came a comment...

"Nah, she won't starve from skipping one meal, besides Wilmour Arts does not encourage latecomers"...Faven drew in a deep breath. That's it, big boy.

Fay stormed her way to the kitchen counter, grabbed Cleo's keys and held it above the sink drain "Let's see what someone's school has to say about latecomers." And without further due, she dropped it.

"What have you done??" Cleo got off his chair and exclaimed in sheer terror "My school is twelve blocks away!!"

"Walk. Perhaps the morning air might do your brain some good" Fay gave her brother a satisfied smirk.

She faced Kendra and cleared her suspicion "Not in your wildest dreams" and tugged her arm under Ken's and they were off into the world.

Faven walked along the pavement mimicking the harmony of Ken's Polo. He was made out of a darker shade of ebony wood, waist-high with a matching arm hook. Ah! And the sound he made when he touched solid ground...

"Tick tock...tick tick tock...tick-tock" If this isn't melody what is?

"Lost in admiration again now, are we?" Kendra's soft intrusion dialed back Fay's focus.

"So, about last night, How'd it go at the party with Ruvy?" Asked Ken.

"About that... the next time we see Ruvera remind me to punch her to remind her to punch me the next time I get the craziest idea of getting drunk and shacking up with a homo Narcissus" Fay rolled her eyes at the thought of 'her morning'.

"You shacked up a-what?" Scoffed Ken.

And at the same thought of 'her morning' contradicted her statement

"Nah! Never mind, forget I ever said anything." It's funny how the same thing can make a person feel two very distinct feelings. Kendra was left clueless but she was certain that knowing would be more disturbing.

"Wilmour Arts!!"

Faven exclaimed in pure joy at the sight of their college. Ah! How she had always wanted to get into this, of course, there were other fancy institutions but Wilmour was a Classic Masterpiece!! True to her words stood a Magnificent clock tower in the middle of a huge turf. Which was by the way swamped with teenagers. Yet again, Fay was blinded to everything but the clock tower.

"A clock tower!!" Fay squealed and rushed towards it tagging Kendra along with her.

"Would you look at this beauty!" Fay whispered out of breath. And suddenly realizing what she had just asked her friend, she attempted to correct her expression. Kendra knew exactly what was is in store...

"Lord, please have mercy on my soul..." Ken dramatically sighed

"Let me describe her to you...hmm?" Fay rubbed her palms together as though she was getting ready for a Hogwarts feast.

"Would you stop, if I ask you not t-?" And even before Kendra had a chance to call for anchorage this ship had already set sail...

"She is of a Grecian birth, with spectacular medieval Babylonian engravings... And how tall she is! taller than Jack's beanstalk that I could see the floating clouds caress her forehead with a tender kiss. She must have melted with a thousand sunsets and reborn with the frenzy moon, keeping her company by telling tales of her lover who died every night just to let her breathe..."

It was twelve in the afternoon and the clock stroked together her enormous hands, filling the void with a harmonious glow. Faven wished that those two hands that reigned the nine realms would reach out to her and take her into their eternal sphere where time is all that it lasts... God! How she lov-

"God! How I hate clocks!" At the final stroke of twelve came a blaring voice...

And the last thing Kendra remembered thinking was...

'He. Did. NOT. Just. Say. That."...

I dedicate this chapter to my beloved sister Quill, who inspired me to write. 

"Thinking of happiest things is the same as having wings!!"

THANK YOU, little sis!!