BECOMING SUPRA

Chapter 4.1

RAË

At sun down, we made our way to the school's soccer field. Imkong and Æsh were playing in loosely formed teams. Pradeep took a bite of his corncob while dribbling the ball, Chang horsed around with Shiv as he passed it on. Æsh claimed the ball, manoeuvring through a network of defenders and sliced the ball into the goal. His teammates cheered loudly but Æsh didn't offer even a hint of a smile.

I followed his movements, I followed his silent reserve. Something was eating him from inside. He looked distant, he looked shut down.

While I was studying him, something flashed, a bright smile, piercing azure eyes. It was Syrah.

Syrah! The school enchantress. A mermaid-like siren, with incredible pull - it was known to be talismanic.

If Syrah were an instrument, she would have been a flute: a musical device originating as a hunting tool. She spoke inaudibly on purpose. To comprehend her people had to lean inwards to try and catch the endnotes of her words. From a distance, it looked like a centripetal force was drawing them into her influence. And her words, so acerbic, so caustic - they could burn through tough hide. But with a sing-song modulation of voice, one couldn't initially tell whether she was insulting or flattering them. Once you heard her though, you'd recoil like animals do after tasting the bitterness of shiny bauble-like insects.

Syrah was like a beautiful flower that camouflaged its black rot in design and structure. Neel was a victim of her taunts from the day she had lain eyes on him. He despised no one as passionately as he did her.

She and I were of the same height and built. We were competitors in class and on the sports field. Once during hockey, she whacked the ball and missed, hitting me in the head, causing my face to swell up like a dead thing. It looked worse than it felt, nonetheless I was sent to the dispensary to be under observation. My PE teacher wanted to rule out the possibility of a concussion. Syrah neither apologized nor came to visit, which was the done thing. She was unafraid of rubbing you the wrong way, she was unafraid of being disliked. She was unafraid, full stop.

Surrounded by her friends, Syrah was pretending to listen. Though, I was certain she was composing a tune to lure in Æsh: the lone, wounded wolf.