𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐲

𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐕

I've always hated the expression "Write what you know."

Back at the dormitory, Saturday sits by his brown wooden desk, typing on his black typewriter, Thing on the table next to it. He was in his comfortable long black jacket and black and white striped shirt, obsidian eyes starring intently at his work.

The typewriter dings as he rips the paper out, scrunching it, unsatisfied with his work. 

The boy puts it on the table and Thing, the big, stitched, severed hand flicks it into the black trashcan.

It's a hall pass for the imagination-impaired.

He puts his right hand to his face, thinking.

His right hand then swiftly reaches down and grabs the torn painting of a silhouette of him burning down the school- half of the painting. He holds the page between his long black nail-polished fingers. Thing stands on the table, propped up by his five fingers, looking intently at Saturday.

But when your life becomes a twisted mystery...

Saturday suddenly notices a round skull-like symbol on the top right corner of the page.

maybe it's time to lean into it.

☟☟☟

Saturday abruptly flings open one of the double doors to Principle Weem's study, black slate in hand, in his black and grey striped blazer, black tie and trousers and ironed white shirt. Misaki trails behind him into the room.

"I need to speak with Rowan. I can't find him." he demands of the Principal, who, with a soft green suit and tie, with an ironed white shirt and gold rimmed, black strapped watch was sitting in front of his silver macbook, on his black leather chair.

"It won't be possible, I'm afraid. He's been expelled." returned the handsome white-blonde man, nonchalantly, not bothering to look at his student.

"For what?" questions Saturday cooly.

The man continues typing, not looking at the boy.

"Never you mind. He'll be on the first train out this afternoon."

The Principal stops typing and looks directly into the young boy's eyes. 

"What were you doing out in the woods with him in the first place?" he enquires.

"I told you already. I heard a noise, and I went to investigate." the boy says to the man, emotionlessly.

His Principal scoffs.

"That excuse might have placated the Sheriff, but you can't fool me." he reprimands the young boy.

He then smiles gently at the girl beside the tall, lean boy. "Hello, dear."

Returning his attention to Saturday, he says, rather cooly, "You had a psychic vision, didn't you?"

Saturday returns his cool gaze coldly.

"I realized you might be having them when we passed by the accident and you knew that poor farmer had broken his neck. Your Father started having visions around your age. They were notoriously unreliable and dangerous. I remember at first, he thought he might be losing his mind. Have you spoken to him about them?" the man said all of this very slowly and calmly.

Saturday could not meet his gaze.

"Clearly the person withholding information here is you." challenges Principal Weems.

"May I go now?" asks the pale boy. His maid looks from her Principal to her young Master, unsure of what to do, trapped in-between.

"Not until you two have picked your extracurricular activity." says the man brightly, smoothly changing the topic, smiling that irresistible smile, showing his white teeth. "We want our students to be well-rounded."