All The Best Cowboys Have Daddy Problems: Ch1 Pt iv The hour long lesson dragged on. Social Science was found in the oldest block of the school, quite ironic for Modern Studies. The teacher was old, decrepit and a hunchback. He blatantly ignored his need for a walking stick -he was knit from the old stuff- and shuffled very slowly around his room. There was no real dislike of the old man, he was kind, observant and a good laugh on the odd occasion. Stetson just couldn’t concentrate during his classes. In one final lap of the room, allowing his class to settle, the old man began to speak. “Today class, we will approach a very raw, and relevant topic. One which may resolve in your #lifetime, but not while I still draw breath, I fear.” He paused, before continuing, “Open notebooks.” The command was hastily carried out. An usual tone had entered the old man’s voice, demanding attention and respect. “April 6th, 1994. A plane was shot down, carrying a cargo whose fate changed the lives of hundreds-of-thousands.” Pens scribbled down the facts. “The fate of that man -a President Juvenal Habyarimana- was death. The result? Well the World’s most infamous genocide. President Habyarimana’s death was the catalyst that has led, up to this day,” The old man made emphasis on this point, “to the wrongful deaths of almost twenty percent of Rwanda’s population. Thats right, the infamous Rwanda Genocide. The Tutsis were killed for no reason, other than the fact they were Tutsi. Reminiscent of Hitler’s campaign in Nazi Germany. Discrimination people, is still very real in today’s society”. The old man rambled on. Stetson enjoyed the old man’s way of teaching. He stood up and preached for an hour. It was up to his pupils what to note down, and what to glaze over. If only the content wasn’t so boring. Stetson’s morning continued on, going from class to class. His break he spent alone, his nose stuck in a damn good book with music gently coaxing him into the expanse of his imagination. Stuck in the Malebolge, exiled from the foyer (admittedly by himself), the heating finally kicked in and sweat hung on Stetson’s brow as he regretted having his hoodie still on. The temperature increase broke his concentration, obscuring his vision, leaving him only capable of seeing words. Closing the book, Stetson stood up, leaning against the corridor wall as a prop, and slung his bag over one shoulder, tugged his fingerless gloves further up his arm and began his aimless march around the multiple blocks of the school, in a feeble attempt of procrastinating. The more he tried to forget about her, the more she became the elephant in the room. He’d seen her, almost every day, and after each, she stood out even more. She was like hailstones, here one minute, and gone the next. A sudden voice echoed around the labyrinth of intertwining corridors. Stetson tugged at the pale rubbery cable of his headphones to recognise the voice. He didn’t. The volume escalated: a female voice; seemingly angry; filled with emotion. Stetson twirled around trying to figure out which way the voice came from, before following it further into the Malebolge. The Girl stood there, animated, gesticulating wildly with one arm, while holding a mobile in the other. Practically screaming down the phone, Stetson caught her off guard and she jumped in shock as he stood there quietly observing. Making excuses down the phone she hung up and turned towards Stetson she looked at him, eyes inquisitive, face neutral. “God those eyes” Stetson thought. Stetson always noticed eyes. Whenever, upon entering a house, there were pictures in the hall, he looked into the eyes. It told him everything, from “not another picture, PLEASE” to “smile, just please them, I’m a happy person, apparently”. Eyes are like a book. You can just glaze over them, or read them and be told a story. These eyes, her eyes, were full of everything. Most people had one emotion prevalently shown in the eyes; happiness, sadness, excitement, and the like. Hers; they were different. Stetson gazed into hers and saw an abyss. A portal to oblivion, so many emotions secreted away in those eyes. “Do you mind?” The Girl questioned, raising an eyebrow. “I find your constant stare somewhat the perfect balance between ‘stalker-ish’ and paedophilic.” Stetson looked on in mild horror, before breaking eye contact with The Girl and swivelled looking to make a quick escape. “The only exception being...” Stetson paused, curiosity apparent; satisfied, The Girl continued: “the only exception being, by law, my age which would then constitute paedophilia being rendered as inappropriate -I’m over the age of sixteen- which would leave only sexual assault, but I find that a bit harsh. Ergo, I’ll stick to paedophilia. I also have a weird obsession with words containing an ‘a’ directly followed by an ‘e’. Its hauntingly latin.” The Girl raised her hand, pulled her hood over her head and tugged it further over her face, almost as a statement, before stuffing both hands into her hoodie’s pockets and leaning back against the Malebolge’s wall, a glint of curiosity evident in her eyes.