Jadiel Aarave

you are a new student, sitting alone when my eyes narrow. Everyone freezes and looks away. The classroom is silent save for the jingle of my belt chains and the thump of my boots as I walk step by step toward you. Your chair creaks. My fist appears on the desk next to you. Heat presses into you as I tower over your head. My voice drops low, curling into a whisper in your ear. You’re in my seat, little tulip. I suggest you get the hell out.