The funeral occurred in the chapel.
The faux sky of the 68th floor of the tower was dark as ash, and rain befell us all. No one was spared.
By then, I had worn my crimson-purple toga of silk due to the chilliness, but it eventually got dampened by the rain.
I was now walking with extra soggy weight on my body.
After walking across the quadrangle and leaving wet trails of water along the corridors, I eventually arrived at the chapel.
The death bell kept ringing. And it didn’t seem to be stopping soon.
When I entered the chapel, there were already students sitting on the arrays of wooden pews, either praying or chattering amongst themselves.
There were also a myriad of owls that were kept in cages. However, instead of being irritating and cawing, they kept still as though they understood the gravity of the situation.
If it hadn’t been for the conversation I had with the Bohemians, I wouldn’t have a clue at first on whose funeral was this.
I recalled the scene:
Basil was panicky, rubbing his temples once in a while.
"No one remembers, Reg. Even the likes of us don’t. And we’re fucking friends."
I stared directly at the photo in his hand, examining it. He eventually put it back in his inner pocket.
"We’ve been together since high school, for fuck’s sake."
Sam choked a sob, trembling.
"He always does this...Always leaving and we end up forgetting him again. He disappears and comes back like nothing’s happened. But..
"But for some reason I am sure he won’t come back this time."
My eyes were set on the duo.
They were all frightened.
In the first place, how could they just forget about someone they’ve been with for years?
Unless...
It was the consequence of their mage title.
That was a possibility in the current world I was now in.
"What has he done?"
I questioned at once, but my answer was reciprocated with the stifling of tears made by Sam and the gritting of teeth by Basil.
Sam was practically hyperventilating.
Slightly, I became terrified of the answer to come.
What could this Solomon possibly have done?
Eventually, they answered.
"Tell him, Basil," said Sam, attempting to compose herself.
Basil hesitated, and rubbed the back of his head.
His shoulders were slouched, his posture worse than what was usual.
"He’s done and killed the headmaster."
I walked along the deserted corridor.
It was ultimately night then. The sky had a full moon that watched over us as though it was an omniscient being.
My toga was still soggy, but I continued to wear it still. I decided to leave it at the laundry, then take a bath back at my dormitory.
When I was about to turn to a corner, from afar I spotted a tall blond instructor with the alias of a hare.
"Bunny."
The words came out abruptly.
I was walking behind him then.
Our legs moved simultaneously, but the more speed I put into it, the more he was further away.
He was also brisk walking away from me.
"Bunny," I called for him.
For what reason was I calling his name?
I suppose I wanted to know the reality.
The reality of what happened that day more than a month ago.
Besides Horace, the people I had met upon awakening from my coma refused to visit or talk to me.
Even in that class, Braham refused to meet my gaze. And when he does meet my gaze unintentionally, his brows would furrow and his expression would drop before glancing away.
In the papers, the Daily Herald, the student-journalists had written in big bold letters: "VIOLENCE PERSONIFIED."
Could you imagine how I felt?
If the Bohemians couldn’t make friends because of their carefree attitude, I was unable to make friends because of my lack of control of myself, because of what the people said about me.
If only there was someone who was willing to hear me out, I would say that I had no memory of what happened that day.
...if I had no memory of both that day and the days that led up to my awakening at the abandoned hospital, who’s to say that I also had not done something of the same category in the past?
Was this my fate?
To forget and forget. But the people would remember and remember.
"Bunny."
I was right behind him then.
I touched his shoulder.
"Stop following me!" bellowed Braham, shoving my hand away. My mind could not process what was happening at the moment. "What’s your fucking problem, man."
I was in too much shock that I did not notice him walk away and disappear from my sight, one of the papers he had carried drifting in the wind.
"Rat."
Braham said at once upon entering the staff’s lounge.
Horace "Rat, not Four-Eyes" Jameson was checking test papers on Braham’s desk with a black pen—not red, for that may cause a jinx. It was one of his duties as Braham’s intern, and though it might sound that Braham was lazy for not doing it himself, he found it quite relaxing.
"Hiya," responded Horace, straightening the stack of test papers without a glance at Braham. Too busy, school first, he made an unneeded excuse in his mind.
"..."
Braham does not reply back.
He looked awfully nervous as though he was thinking of something.
Horace was first to speak again.
"How’s Regulus—?"
"Reverie," said Braham seriously. "Call him Reverie."
Horace finally looked at him with slight surprise.
"Well, he is part of the Bohemians now. Do you think he’d become an activist like them too?"
Braham glared at him.
"Don’t act like you and that person are friends. He’s—"
"He’s what? For fuck’s sake, Bunny, he can’t even fend for himself. He’s told me, you know, that he doesn’t remember what the fuck happened that day."
"..."
He only stared pointedly at Horace, his eyes filled with detestation that was likely to be directed to Regulus.
Braham’s voice did not contain curiosity, but instead, demand.
"...when did he tell you that? When did you meet?"