“There are three kinds of lies,”
“The lies you tell others,”
“The lies you tell yourself,”
“And the lies history tells everyone,”
History was the most dangerous of them all,
Not because it lied the most,
But because almost nobody questioned it.
London, England
October
7:14 A.
M.
Rainfall had always been a part of London,
Not that it was particularly heavy,
Nor that it was light,
The city had long since accepted it as normal.
Black umbrellas fluttered in the streets,
Double decker buses splashed through puddles,
Coffee shops were full of students, escaping the cold before morning lectures,
Tourists snapped pictures in front of Big Ben, claiming it was better than the picture,
The violinist outside of Westminster Station played the same tune as he had done every Tuesday for the past six years,
Nobody paid him any mind,
Except one person.
A young man stepped out of the station, a paper cup of black coffee in hand,
White hair,
Silver rimmed glasses,
And a black overcoat that reached just below his knees,
His name was Sam Valecroft,
Nineteen years old,
And a second year student at Blackthorn University,
At first glance,
There was nothing particularly special about him,
He wasn’t surrounded by people,
He wasn’t talking on a phone,
He wasn’t listening to music,
He simply walked,
Leisurely,
If anything,
His eyes seemed to be constantly searching,
A shop window,
The reflection of a passing taxi,
A puddle at the side of the road,
The polished glass of a book store,
Another reflection,
Another glance,
They never lingered for more than a second,
Never less than a second,
If someone had been watching him,
They might have questioned it,
Nobody was,
Or at least,
Nobody thought they were,
“Watch out!”
A university student nearly collided with Sam as he rushed past, balancing three books and a sandwich in his hands,
The sandwich slipped from his grasp,
Before gravity could claim it,
Sam caught it,
The student blinked,
“…How?”
Sam handed it back to him,
“You almost dropped your lunch.”
The boy stared at him for a long moment, before letting out a laugh,
“Thanks, mate,”
He vanished into the morning crowd,
Sam looked down at his coffee,
Not a single drop was spilled,
“Good,”
He took another sip,
A few streets later,
A yellow balloon slipped from the grasp of a little girl,
She giggled, chasing after it,
Her mother turned to answer a phone call,
At the exact moment,
A cyclist rounded the corner,
Too fast,
The little girl ran right into the road,
People gasped,
But it was too late,
Sam quietly checked his watch,
7:18:43,
“…Three seconds,”
He didn’t run,
He didn’t shout,
He simply took one step to the side,
The cyclist subconsciously adjusted his handle bars,
The bicycle veering off to the left by barely half a meter,
Enough to miss the little girl completely,
The balloon drifted past her, still floating through the rain,
She laughed,
Her mother smiled, oblivious to the entire situation,
The cyclist shouted an apology,
Life went on,
Nobody applauded Sam,
Nobody thanked him,
Nobody even seemed to notice,
Sam simply continued on his walk,
“…Earlier than expected,”
Blackthorn University,
One of England’s most prestigious institutions,
Unlike Oxford or Cambridge,
Blackthorn was not known for its long history,
It was known for the people that graduated from it,
Scientists,
Prime Ministers,
Judges,
Psychologists,
People who had shaped the world,
Students filtered through the large gothic courtyard as the university bell tolled through the rain,
Someone sprinted past, two coffees in hand,
He slipped,
Sending both drinks flying into the air,
Three students nearby automatically took a step back,
One took a step forward,
Another simply sighed,
Sam walked between them, unhindered,
Not a single drop of coffee landed on his coat,
“…Lucky,”
Someone muttered,
No,
It had nothing to do with luck,
Room 302,
Department of Psychology,
Professor Adrian Holloway arrived just in time,
He set a worn leather notebook on the desk,
Without introduction,
Without announcement,
He picked up a piece of chalk,
And wrote a single sentence on the board,
Observation is not intelligence,
A hush fell over the room,
The professor turned around,
“Who agrees?”
Almost everyone raised their hands,
“Who disagrees?”
Only one,
Near the window,
A young woman slowly set her pen down,
Long black hair,
Amber eyes,
Elegant posture,
And a confidence that came without arrogance,
Professor Holloway gave a small smile,
“Your name?”
“Mehjabeen Winslet,”
“And why do you disagree, Miss Winslet?”
She stood up,
“Observation is the foundation of intelligence,”
“If your observations are wrong,”
“No amount of intelligence will save your conclusion,”
A few students nodded in agreement,
The professor looked pleased,
“Interesting,”
He turned his gaze to Sam,
“Mr.
Valecroft,”
Sam looked up from his notebook,
“What do you think?”
Thirty pairs of eyes turned to him,
Sam closed his notebook,
“I think,”
“You’re both wrong,”
The room fell completely silent,
Even Professor Holloway raised an eyebrow,
Sam calmly continued,
“Observation is not the foundation of intelligence,”
“Nor is intelligence the correct use of observation,”
A pause,
“They’re simply habits,”
Nobody said anything,
“The difference between intelligent people and everyone else,”
“…isn’t that they see more,”
“It’s that they notice what everyone else ignores,”
Silence,
Professor Holloway gave a small smile,
“A dangerous answer,”
Sam returned the smile,
“So was the question,”
A few students chuckled,
Some looked a little confused,
Mehjabeen simply watched him, unimpressed,
Curious,
Very curious,
Professor Holloway turned back to the board,
Erasing the sentence, before writing a new one,
The human mind sees only what it expects to see,
“Keep that in mind,”
He told them,
“It may be the most important sentence you’ll ever read,”
No one knew,
That sentence would one day change the world,
Not today,
Not tomorrow,
Years from now,
For now,
It was simply another sentence, written on another board, by another professor,
On another rainy morning in London,
Or so everyone believed,
Except one person,
Sam looked out the rain soaked window,
Across the courtyard,
For less than a second,
He saw a man in a black coat,
Standing completely still,
Watching the university,
Watching him,
Then lightning flashed,
The man was gone,
Sam’s expression didn’t change,
He quietly picked up his pen,
And wrote four words on the corner of his notebook,
“They’re finally here.”
TO BE CONTINUED…..