Engraved In Fate

11. Directions To West

When I had turned three, my grandfather had gifted me a book on dinosaurs.

I loved it so much that I used to sleep holding it. Never needed to re-read the book, for I'd already memorised every little detail mentioned in it. If I closed my eyes right now, I'd be able to picture see each and every thing exactly.

But that was the thing, I didn't need to close my eyes. The person standing infront of the class seemed to do the job rather splendidly.

Stegosaurus.

His glistening hairs were styled like the spikes at the back of Stegosaurus, sticking out in different directions. There were probably seven-eight such spikes. I wondered if he also shared the appreciation for dinosaurs.

No way, it couldn't just be appreciation. It's an obsession, my conscience instantly reminded me.

And for once, I actually agreed with it. It was one thing to really like something; but to turn yourself into that entity was nothing but obsession.

However, that wasn't all. Perhaps in an attempt of trying to be smooth like Brontosaurus, he had even shaved off his eyebrows too.

One hell of a scandalizing sight.

The classroom roared with laughter, and their thunderous claps brought me out of my dinosaurs filled reverie. It must be something extraordinary for them too. Most of them were pounding their hands on their desks— wheezing uncontrollably. It was outright hilarious. Unconsciously, I was also grinning widely in amusement. Abigail too was shaking with laughter— and it perplexed me since just moments ago, she was intent on killing someone by the name 'West Jones.'

Shaking her by the shoulder, I piped in my next query, as it was getting harder to refrain myself from joining in the crowd.

"Who is that person infront of the class?"

"That's... Mr Clark....our....AP English... teacher." I managed to catch her words despite of her chortling in between the words.

Teachers from the human world seemed to posses quite an eccentric fashion sense. Sensational in a horrifying way. Did he spend some time in front of that black screen of a mirror? It couldn't be intentional as far as I could think, especially the shaven eyebrows. I couldn't arrive at a conclusion since there was no way he didn't know about his disastrous appearance.

Ah, I had never expected a day would come in my life, when I'd actually appreciate my governesses and teachers. Especially grumbly Mr. Finley.

But today was that day.

Long live his flannel shirts, jackets and pin-stripped trousers. And his dark, bushy eyebrows.

I sighed sadly, or at least tried to. Pressing my lips harder, I resisted the urge to give in the temptation of laughing. It was difficult. Poor chap had already received mocking to last a lifetime, and the least I could do is try to be sympathetic. What if someday one of my handmaidens chose an appalling outfit for me— and let's say I went blind for a moment and actually donned it— it'd be devastating for my reputation. But at least, I'd appreciate someone not laughing at me in front of my face.

The students seemed to be recovering after their unbridled bouts of laughter. Some weren't even in their chairs anymore. The boys from the last row traced their fingers on their eyebrows, snickering and darting foul glances at the teacher.

Foolish normal humans.

Though the look on Mr Clark's face was absolutely priceless. Initially it was bewilderment, however as the students' guffawing session progressed, it gradually morphed into sheer look of horror.