Out of Sight, Out of Mind {open}

[Samael Oleander]

Off in a corner, there was a table with a chair pushed out and an open book placed near the edge of the table. The busy lunch book would hustle and bustle all around this table, no one ever taking any real notice to it. Why should they? It was merely an empty table, the only inhabitants being a book. A book most high school students would consider boring, at best. The Time Machine by H.G. Wells, was hardly a science fiction book that any normal teenager would pick up nowadays. It was outdated, the words and phrases too different for the likings of high school students. 

Yet, if they had been paying attention. If someone had the smallest notion to take a glance around their surroundings instead of being focused on the newest train of gossip, the newest rumor of what the prefects and battle front where doing with each other, or even cared enough to look up from their food, then perhaps they may have noticed. Perhaps, they may have caught the sight of a page in that silly, outdated book turning every so often. Time so perfectly, it was almost as if someone was flicking the pages over as they read. But then again, if they had it could simply assume it was the breeze and go back to their daily business, why should they bother to look into something that was so minuscule?

Small actions like that which are so often assumed to be a trick of the light, or your mind playing games. After all, a page turning in the breeze was so normal why bother to look beyond it? If one was in any other school besides Ashford, home of the gifted, then it most likely would be a simple breeze or trick of the light. But here, among all the amazing gifts, wouldn’t one think that perhaps a gift could be quite the opposite? That instead of showing off a power of mind defying brilliance that a power could be to simply hide from the world. A power, which would in fact, just seem like a trick of the light or a breeze in a busy room?

Among the stupefying gifts that roam around the halls, there are those few gifts that go unnoticed. Not in the way that mental gifts, such as telekinesis are invisible to the eye, but in ways that make one’s eye skip over a certain spot or just seem to overlook a person. A gift such as that would belong to a young Samael Oleander. The boy, who happened to be the one turning that page in such a timely manner, who happened to love the older science fiction writers. The boy who happened to have his attention drawn so far into his story that his image slowly faded back into existence for everyone to now see that there was, indeed, a boy with shaggy brown hair alone in the corner.

[Christopher Sanders]

The lunchroom. Usually, it was a highlight of any typical high school student’s day. One was free to gossip as they pleased and forget about complicated math equations, chemistry experiments that could set the school on fire, and eras of time that have faded from the memory of those who did not study them. Just because Ashford was a school of gifted students did not mean it did not have the same features as a regular high school. Friends always sat together, taking up most of the table since everyone seemed to be such social creatures. Even the misfits, who seemed to be wandering the hallways alone all the time, found a table to sit at together and bonded over their struggles. Rumors about who was with who and what the battle front and prefects were up to buzzed around. It was a scene right out of any movie, and nobody really seemed to notice. Each table and group went happily about their business, chatting with each other and basically ignoring everyone else unless they were addressed. It seemed like everyone knew their place and occupied it well.

That was, except for a snowy-haired young man who stood tentatively by the door of the dining hall. The sound of chatter overwhelmed him and he was frozen where he stood. How could so many people fit in such a small space? The thought made a tight feeling take over his abdomen and he clutched the book in his hands tighter to his chest, his already pale knuckles blanching to a white almost as light as his hair. His dark brown eyes scanned the room, looking from table to table. He had the nagging feeling that someone was staring at him and judging him. He removed one hand from the book and twirled a lock of hair around his finger tightly, tugging on it. It was a strange thing to do, he knew, but it helped him relieve a little bit of the nervousness that he was experiencing. Nothing would ever be able to cure the dread of social interaction, he knew, but little things, like the book he clutched to his chest and his habit of tugging on his hair, helped him anchor himself in reality so he did not slip into a full blown attack. Lord knows, if he had one at that moment, he might die of mortification later, because everyone would be watching him and most likely freaking out while trying to help him.

The boy scanned the room one more time before noticing a table toward the back corner of the room that was, from what he could see, empty. He breathed out a small sigh of relief before making a beeline for said table, not really caring who he bumped into along the way. He had to get to safety before something terrible happened. He plopped down in a chair at the table in the corner, breathing heavily as he did so. He was a rather delicate and frail boy, so there was no way that he was going to be in any kind of shape to do any amount of exercise, unless it involved his brain. He pulled a pen out of the pocket of his pants and opened the book he had been carrying. The name ‘Christopher Sanders’ was printed in neat letters on the inside of the front cover. He then turned to a page that had a big box with numbers in some smaller boxes and other smaller boxes that were blank. A small, amused smile crossed his lips as he observed what was printed on the page. Puzzles like the one before him, Sudoku, and crossword puzzles, somehow brought him a sense of calm to his racing mind and body. He started to scribble numbers on the page, hardly noticing the fact that another boy had flickered into existence across from him.

[Samael Oleander]

It was fairly easy for the boy to become lost in printed words. It didn’t have to be a novel or a captivating tale of a hero saving the day. It could be a few simple words strung together to form a poem, or a densely packed textbook filled with words that some high schoolers couldn’t fathom the meaning to. In fact, those textbooks that were sprinkled in medical terms or advanced biological content were some of his favorites. When it came to reading, it was about learning something else. Whether it was another fairy tale to add to his collection or enhancing his knowledge on a subject, both captivated the brunette.

Often, it stole his attention to a point where the outside world was forgotten. He didn’t have to worry about the odd glances of other students or the judging looks of teachers devouring his work in class. He didn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing, or tripping over his own tongue. Instead, he could simply float along the river of ink and let his thoughts be consumed by a completely different realm. At times it could be nearly detoxing to the teen and this calm afternoon was just another one of those times. Which easily explains why he wasn’t aware of another struggling teenager taking a seat across from him at a neglected table in the corner of an overly active room.

However, as time passed and Samael eventually came to end of the story, he was slowly drawn back to the outside world. The world he often dreaded so frequently that over thinking about the world he felt so discontented from could often lead to slight panic attacks. Never the less, he was no lacking a distraction to keep his busy mind occupied. His bright blue eyes blinked, trying to focus on a small blurry poster off in the distance. The slightly annoying, yet manageable after effect for reading so long. Once his eyes shifted so that they were fully functioning again, they flittered over the rest of his surrounding area to take in the changes.

The quiet boy had expected students to change seats, new lunch treys and absent treys, and even the occasional teacher to roam around the dining hall. What he hadn’t expected was for his large blue eyes to land on another student across the table from him. Samael felt his breath seize for a moment as he took in the sight of the silver haired peer. In that moment, he felt each muscle in his body slowly tense, his fingers gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles changed from a pinkish hue to an ashen white. He wasn’t equipped to deal with students, he really hadn’t spoken to anyone since he had arrived. So, what exactly was he meant to do in this situation?

Thankfully, the other boy seemed quite content on focusing on his own book. It allowed for Samael to process this change of events, it allowed for a minute or two of panic to slowly ease into the ever familiar nervousness. As his body unclenched and his lunges refilled with the blessing known as oxygen he let go of the table, his long thing fingers coming to rest on top of his own book. Figuring it would be the proper thing to do to introduce himself, Samael attempted to make the first move in conversation. He swallowed once, twice, and half of third before quietly clearing this throat, “Bel-lo.”

He closed his eyes, frustration centering on his age old enemy, his tongue, before he opened them once more and tried again, “Ex-excuse me, hello.” His voice was quiet, almost to the point of difficulty to hear with the loud background noise echoing around the two teens. “I apologize for n-not notic-c-cing you,” he dipped his head, a shaky smile upon his lips as he attempted this active his mother had often tried to force him to do, socializing. “I tend to get realost, ahem, lost in writing.” Quietly, he pleaded for his neurons to communicate efficient so he didn’t combine too many more words during this encounter.

[Christopher Sanders]

It was not as easy for Christopher to forget the outside world. As involved as he could become in his puzzle books, he was always aware of the eyes watching him. He was not paranoid by any means; just realistic. His hair color and big, bug-like brown eyes certainly drew unwanted to attention to him. He was unsure if being bullied was prevalent at the school, mainly because he basically cut himself off from the rest of the student population. He knew it was not a healthy way to cope, but his anxiety would just get so bad so quickly, and the only person that could calm him down would be himself. The thought of other people touching him and reassuring him filled him with dread and he decided to get out of his own head before he really did start having a panic attack in the middle of the cafeteria. He darted as quickly as he could to the table in the back, regretting the decision upon sitting down. He had been born a frail boy and, unfortunately, those frail traits had followed him into his teenage years. His seizures were bad enough, and adding constant respiratory ailments did not help the situation either. His constant anxiety only served to break down his immune system more and cause more illnesses to linger around his body. He decided to turn his attention to filling out a Sudoku puzzle to calm his anxiety so he did not rip the abused lock of hair from his scalp.

Christopher was content not to acknowledge the young man across from him, mainly because he did not really know how to without looking like a deer in the headlights. He let all of the noise in the background, the slamming of trays and chattering of students, fill his ears as he worked. Background noise had never really distracted the young man, in all honesty. There had been times when he had listened to the sound of his parents arguing while working on a puzzle book in his bedroom closet. The thought caused his shoulders to tense and he breathed deeply a few times before adding a few more numbers to the puzzle. He heard someone clear their throat and he glanced up briefly, before meeting the eyes of a scary-looking young man standing a bit behind Samael. He nearly jumped out of his seat when he finally noticed the brunette before him. He scratched his cheek a little bit, wondering when the other had gotten there. He supposed it was irrelevant, though, because the other young man was trying to speak to him. He struggled to hear what the other was saying, though; it’s like his voice volume did not rise above a 2 on a 5 point scale. Big, brown eyes stared back at the blue eyed young man and the white-haired teen opened his mouth, only to close it again. He hated struggling like this, but he just felt so uncomfortable. Finally, after a few more awkward moments of silence, he forced himself to speak in an equally soft voice. “H-hi,” he replied simply, twirling the writing implement he had been using to fill out the puzzle between his fingers. The familiar motion calmed his anxiety just a bit, but he knew it was still there. He could feel it nagging at him in the back of his brain.

Christopher blinked when Samael apologized. There were so many things he wanted to say, but really the only thing he managed to get out was, “I-it’s okay…” He wanted to say it was not the other’s fault. He wanted to say that he would rather be curled up in a ball in that moment. He wanted to say that not many people noticed him anyway, and that there was no need to because he was not anything special. Sadly, all of those thoughts were trapped in his head, since he was too tongue-tied to share any of it. At the mention of writing, the anxious boy’s eyes shifted downward. There were many times he had tried to put his feelings into the creative outlet of writing, but the frustration of his dyslexia had squashed that idea. Instead, he engaged in avoidance behaviors that he knew deep down were bad. However, avoiding it was better than lapsing into a terror-filled nightmare that was actually happening while he was wide awake. He had to force himself to speak once more, since his brain did not seem to want to do it on it’s own. He wondered if “normal people” had to think so much to be able to hold a conversation and not devolve into a state of utter panic. “W-writing is hard for me,” he mumbled, looking down at the Sodoku page before him before looking up at the other teen shyly and ducking his head once more out of what he thought was respect, “I-I like p-puzzles, though…”