The Garden

He flicked his hair from his eyes. A defiant smile dared to cross his lips as the class stared. “Trafalgar. The Battle of Trafalgar.” The teacher eyed his suspisciously. He bent him head and continued drawing. A flower here. Maybe an orchid.
Guillaume always kept himself detatched from those around him. His looks had always attracted unwanted attention. If someone asked him something, he responded with a smile. He starved himself on those smiles; starved himself of being human.
He only paid enough attention to answer questions in class when asked. There, complete! His picture was of a garden, strange, yet somehow familiar….

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