was requested: a piece based on campus. gave it a go, hope you enjoy.
collection of writing / part two
Lifting the folders further up in my arms I struggle for breath. My lungs are being compressed by the weight of the work I completed at 5am this morning and all I want to do is drop it, burn it or let it float off. None of it feels like it’s worth being praised and instead, I look around as I wait in front of the metal doors and think about everyone I see each passing day.
There are those who seem too relaxed at 9am. They wear an uneasy state of bliss in their eyes as they chew their lips or clutch their jaws shut. I see those who have too much work piled in front of them in the library and all they do is stare at it, hoping it would vanish in front of them or do the work itself.
Similarly, there are those like me. The type who are just trying to survive, keep on top and prove their worth to study and can make something of themselves. The door bings and the metal slide either side, leaving me to face my own reflection, well my forehead that is. I step in and hear the springs cry in pain at the additional weight of my folders as I reach to press eight. The doors close and the whirring is a comfort, but that peace is short-lived.
“Third floor.” The automatic voice that is far from the softness a human offered chimed in as the doors opened and I could barely see who it was, only their shoes.
As I heard them sigh my lungs collapsed into themselves knowing what was to come as we rose, trapped in each others company for a mere two minutes. “So, all that work?” I tried to ignore the slight arrogance that was always in his tone, I mentally threw my work in his face and left him there as the doors shut and a single piece of paper flew out with me and resigned at my feet.
But that didn’t happen, instead I remained hidden. That was until a weight lifted from my eyes, and instead of a black folder, I was greeted with his blue eyes that were often too misleading, too nice for someone such as him. “I’m not in the mood today, Dan.” I remark as the floor numbers roll too slowly, we’re only on the fifth floor.
“Why’s that? Left everything too late? Stressed?” He kept throwing words I’d used or heard too often in the past two weeks. My parents, my friends, my flatmates and other students all talking about their deadlines and exams that were coming too quickly for them to keep on top of it all. I didn’t need to respond, the growing purple marks beneath my eyes and the sleep that hung heavy above my eyes spoke on my behalf.
Sixth floor. “Do you always have to be so,” My brain was shuffling through endless sheets of blank paper for a response, but nothing would compute.
“Philosophical?” He raised an eyebrow at me, waiting for me to snap back. Yet I stayed quiet. “You are just another brain here, another walking cash machine to them.” Leaning against the railing he watched the numbers rise, avoiding my gaze. “I’m just more aware of it, I know I’m another man on the field to them. I don’t matter, all that matters is the cycle that endlessly repeats itself. Students come and go. End of story.” All his words sounded too impressive as if he’s too aware of his own intelligence. Or, more his ability to understand the system like the rest of us, but in his eyes, that means he’s better for knowing he’s nothing but another person. He’s not unique, and that’s what makes him special.
I stay quiet, my brain not picking a response as it has shut down. I’m in total darkness mentally and as the door pings, I walk out without saying another word. “See you later, number-” The doors closed just in time. Heavily I drag my feet through the doors to my front door and pull out my key.
As I enter my room the door creaks behind me, and I collapse into bed and discard my papers and folders to the floor next to me. I close my eyes and all I see is him, the gaze of integrity and arrogance that leaves my stomach unsettled. “What does he know anyway? Say a few statements whilst looking off into the unknown of a lift and think everyone will fall to his feet?” Scoffing lightly down the phone my friend yawns loudly, she is in a similar boat to my own. “I’m sorry, he just.” My free hand balls into a fist, partially unsure how to express my feelings towards him. “He’s infuriating.”
She laughs to herself, chuckling away at my prolonged silence. “For someone who seemingly infuriates you, you sure talk about him an awful lot babes.” I sit upright, the sleep that was thick in my mind has vanished.
“No.” I shake my head as if she could see me, “No I don’t. He mocks me constantly, how is that attractive? He is so far up his own arse to notice anyone else or have feelings.” I’d cross my arms if I could and have a tantrum like a child, but no one is here to witness it.
A sigh follows down the line. “Listen,” Her tone has quickly changed, shes more assertive now. “did you manage to get it all done though? Work wise.” Changing the topic calmed my heart rate down.
“Yes. Yeah, everything's been done. I finished it a few hours ago.” A draining yawn escaped my lips. “Everyone is the same. Literally, every person I’ve passed has had piles of paper in their arms or bags that are fitting for a camping trip-” Stopping myself I think back to less than ten minutes ago.
Unlike every other person, he was perfectly calm and collected. No papers piled high before his eyes. I doubt he would’ve had it done so far in advance? My name is repeated until I zone back into the conversation. “I’ll call you back later,” I hang up and let my phone sit in front of my lap for a moment as I contemplate it.
Whenever I see him in the library he focuses more so on judging everyone rather than working. I’ve never seen him take a book out, nor study for that matter anywhere. I see him on social media watching films or writing in his free time, not working or studying like the rest of us. “What’re you up to Dan?” I mutter to myself as I run my fingers through my knotted hair.
Placing my card on the scanner I turn to walk through the gate, into the open space and head to the computer area. Sitting down I take out my earphones and search the area, and if by luck hovering by the printers he stands facing everyone.
Even with glasses on I’m not fooled of his intelligence. I walk over to him, leaning against the printer until he turns to face me. “How’re you doing Dan? Stress settling in at all yet?” I ask as everyone around us remains silent, each focusing on the screens and occasionally wandering around for various books.
He keeps a straight face and shakes his head in response. “Nope. I feel perfectly calm about it all. Why sink to the level they expect me to?” I couldn’t stop my eyes rolling into the back of my head.
“Must be easy to keep calm though, considering all of those people who are writing or ‘helping’ your dissertation, right?” I struck a nerve as he stood upright, no longer relaxing against the printers. He crossed his arms, and unlike before avoiding my gaze.
He didn’t say anything as his jaw remained clenched, I watched as his blue eyes darted around the space we were in. “You have no idea.” Muttering under his breath he quickly walked off, pulling his glasses off of his eyes and shoved them forcefully into his pocket.
After he disappeared out of sight I went back to my computer and began to write the next thousand words.
Unaware of the sun setting and night emerging I continue to type, fighting the tiredness that wracks my body. My fingertips hitting the keys becomes more urgent as I have less than one hundred words left until I’ve finished the next section, and consequently three less books to take back with me.
Sighing I read through my last paragraph, hitting save as I read and change. A few people walk by, clearly happy with where they are for the night whereas I along with a few other devoted third years continue, even if it is almost morning again.
Unable to stop my eyes closing and I go to hit save the screen goes blank. My mind snaps into action as I hit any and all keys to get my work from today back up, the part that required the most research. Yet nothing works. I’ve lost it.
My eyes become too watery and I stand up, heaving the bag of books and drafts with me and head out of the library. As I walk I spot those still working, all eyes locked on screens refusing to acknowledge anyone going by. I scan out of the library and pause, allowing myself to cry silently. “Hey, you alright?” A voice interrupts and I straighten up, wiping my face as I turn to see Dan.
I go back to how I was, wiping my face and not caring as it’s only him. “Oh, me? I’m doing swell.” Sarcasm drowns my voice, I laugh lightly as he keeps a safe distance as if crying is contagious.
“Come on.” He walks up to me and takes my bag of books, carrying them in his arms. I stand still, unsure of a kind action. Usually, he’d have some comment to retaliate with or make a statement about how society and the pressures of education have caused this. Or perhaps how if I were a man I’d have to keep my tears inside, as it is not yet acceptable. Something, anything like that, but not this.
We walk in silence to the block of flats that are ridden with students. A few months ago it would’ve been so different here, music would play and drown out each and every floor like it were a competition of sound and vibrations. No one would be silent until at least 5 in the morning as everyone was living, being free. But now, now it is silent too often. Everyone keeps to themselves as we are all in the same boat, living through the Titanic and scrounging for lifeboats.
Stepping into the lift it creaks and whines as always. The metal doors close, trapping us and I sigh loudly, prompting him to speak up. “You know,” I glanced up at him, seeing him in such unflattering lighting eased the pain slightly. “at 4 they turn the computers off, restart them. Just part of their routine.”
I can’t help but sniff loudly, “Guessing your writers told you that?” I remark, not wanting to admit what he already knows. He doesn’t respond as the doors open to the eighth floor and he follows me as I let myself in.
The corridor remains silent as I go through to the kitchen, ignoring his presence and putting the kettle on before collapsing into a chair and resting my head on the table. Light movement surrounds me and the scrapping of a chair and a hand in between my shoulder blades is unnerving.
“I only talk like that because I’m terrified of failure.” His hand remains still as I sit upright, black settling under my eyes only adding to the purple that has been marked since we started three years ago. “I’m working from the moment I wake up until I fall asleep. Everyone who is rumoured to write for me is simply checking if it’s average or above if I’m lucky enough.”
Looking at him now with his glasses off I can see his exhaustion. The rim of them hiding the matching darkness that has embedded itself on his face, how in his blue eyes they don’t shine with passion or for justice against being just another brain here. Instead, they’re defeated.
“Then why make everyone else feel like they’re less worthy? Or that you’re better than the rest of us?” His hand begins to slip from its spot on my back and settles on his own knee.
“In the first year I was myself, and no one liked that. They thought me, being myself was weird. That my love of music but being too nervous to perform wasn’t right for me, not my niche. So I went down a different, more douchy posh lad route and it stuck. Sometimes I play my keyboard in my room and wonder what it’d be like if it were all different.” I fully sit upright, facing him.
A new found sense of fascination entices me with him now. “But, why are you telling me all of this?” Curiosity laces my words, and he simply smiles.
“Tonight you are at your lowest. I can see how tired you are, and stressed out about your lost work.” His hand reaches over and pats my knee lightly before walking over to the kettle and making a cup of tea. “I’ve lived in that state for a long time when everything just falls apart and no one offers to pick up the pieces you leave as a trail.”
I watch as he opens various cupboards, “Top left.” I pipe in, and he nods.
“What I’m saying is, oh sugar?” I shake my head and he squeezes the tea bags, dumping them in the bin and presents a warm mug of nearly black tea before me. “I’m saying I can help in some ways. And that I want to. I went through it alone, no one helped me but I want to help you through it.” He smiles wholeheartedly, fiddling with his glasses in his hands.
“Thank you, Dan.” A smile forms on my face, though defeated for now I want to get better. “For helping me as it falls apart.”
The two of us sit, chatting about the stress for a while as the sun rises outside. Warmth slowly catches our ankles and illuminates the dust that floats to the floor. The dark tea stains the mugs and turns bitterly cold as we talk, neither pausing until the warmth reaches our eyes, blinding us.
“I better go. When did it get light?” He asks, chuckling for a second before going quiet, unsure what to say.
I shake my head, partly not wanting him to go. “What’re you doing later?” The first thing that comes to mind. “I mean, if you’re busy I-”
“Nothing.” He quickly states. An eager expression lining his eyes. “Are you, you doing anything?” When I shake my head his smile only grows and he slips his glasses back on. “Well, I could come by this evening, offer a better cup of tea?” He jokes half-heartedly.
“I’d like that, yeah.” We walk to the front door, “Safe journey.” I joke as he walks to the lift, heading three floors above my own. As I go to close the door I hear a thud, and quickly open the door to see him on the floor crawling out of sight.
