Freedom & Haunting

After I completed my morning routine, I found myself at the university campus. Since it is now a weekday, it’s to be expected that I’d be here, under normal circumstances.
With how everyone still refuses to acknowledge my existence, it’s safe to say that this situation I find myself in is not normal. People continue to walk by me without even looking at my shadow. Mentions of Alice being the leader in academics do not go ignored by me, as if those passerby's are mocking me while still denying that I exist. Some even comment on how surprising it is that the second place holder George has not yet challenged her.
All these comments are specifically target at me to cause the most damage they can.

They are kind of effective.
To be fair, I’m not really feeling it.

I’m definitely burned out. And rightfully so. How long have I kept this grind up? It’s been since the middle of high school that I had this urge, I think. It’s hard to define when exactly this goal of mine became established.
I continued to wander through the student filled campus, through the three winds of campus. I first walked through the science wing, the one that I never stop by. This wing is filled with more awkward but still confident students that still ignore my existence.
The business wing is the one that has the most vile comments thrown at me. Those talks of Alice being first and came from this wing. It’s this crowd of people that I pissed off the most.

Lastly, I stopped by the wing that I frequented the most. It has the least amount of students attending it for a good reason. Why would you want to learn anything art related in this university? It’s the norm here to follow the path set by your higher ups, and the creative arts is usually something that goes ignored. This means this wing is in worse wear compared to the polished looks of the business and science wing. Students still walked past me, but they only ignored me. No passing comments were made.

Well, one person spoke out to me.

    “Look at who it is, the lone wanderer shows his tail at my humble establishment!”
Franklin, an art tutor that practically lived in this wing, appeared before me as I turned a corner.
Others did express light shock that a tutor would acknowledge the existence of John Smyth, but no one spoke out. Everyone continued on.
    “See? These buggers don't care either way. It’s always been like that, hasn’t it mate?”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “Aye, he’s clueless. Whatever. What brings you here, my good man?”
He even goes up to pat me on the shoulder, a clear signal that he does in fact see me in reality. I do exist in his eyes.
    “Why aren’t you following the norm around here?”
    “Are you reeealy asking me that question? Seriously? Have I ever been one to follow norms?”
    “You- yeah. You’re right. It was a dumb question.”
    “T’was my friend, t’was. Say, how about we get out of these stares by going to my office? Even I’m getting the ick from all of these CREEPY PASSERBYS.”
A sudden look behind me revealed two people's heads rapidly turning away from my line of sight.
    “Yeah. Let’s go.”
    “An adventure it is then! Off we go lad!”
Franklin began to proudly stretch his legs out as he walked exaduratly to his office on the second floor.

I don’t think I’ve ever entered Franklin’s office. This thought appeared in my head as I was blasted by the odd layout of his office. First of all, it looked more like a studio than an office. Second, his desk was placed at an angle from the wall. Third, there were folders mixed in with various works of art littered across the floor and bookshelves present within this room. Fourth, there was a mattress leaning against the wall. This is the prime example of organized chaos, since Frankin knows where to reach for his coffee set.
    “Coffee or tea mate?”
    “What tea have you got?”
    “Normal bloody tea. The gold kind, if you’re that curious.”
    “I’ll have some of that then.”
    “Perfect. It'll be done in a jiffy thanks to this baby.”
He gave his machine a flick as it began to do it’s magic.
    “Oh! Can’t forget the cups!”

He dashed to the other side of the room to open a cupboard that housed small clay statues of heads alongside odd gimmick mugs. I believe some of them were the heads of mascots, while others just had really tacky text printed on them, like “Yes, I love Sundays. Vanilla is the best.”. Who would want a mug with that text? Franklin, apparently. He took the brown cup that had the white text “shit” written across it, while my cup was going to be colored blue with the white text “Booking.Nom. For the hungry gambler.”. What does that even mean?

    “Here. Tea.”
He handed me the now warm cup. Looking down at it-
    “It's just tea mate. Take a sip.”
One sip is all it takes to confirm that it is indeed gold tea. I used to have this frequently when I was still with foster parents.
    “So, why did you bring me in here, Franklin?”
I sat down on one of the available chairs In front of his desk, while he went to sit behind that oddly angled desk.
    “I felt like guiding a lost lamb today, that’s all. Consider this a whim of mine.”
    “Why didn’t you ignore me like the others?”
    “Well, they did try to pay me off. But who cares about money. I don't. Art does.”
    “Right.”
    “You have to understand kid. Art does care about the money. The artist may or may not. I certainly don’t! Tenure is amazing. I can just live off this job for the rest of my life!”
He pumps up his fist in excitement.

    “That also means that I’ll have to do my job. My job is to teach people the creative arts. Anything creative, that is my place.”
Yes. I am aware with how many odd bits of art litter your office.
    “That's why I have brought you here, Mister Smyth. Now that you are set free from your goal and the expectations of your conquest, I have reason to believe I could aid you in your new adventure.”
    “What do you mean by that?”
    “You have something that you never got to try out. A hobby that was frequently exposed to you through the acts of others.”
What is he on about?
    “I’m sorry sir, but I really don’t know-”
    “But you do!”
He suddenly stood up and put one foot on his desk, posing as if he were singing.
    “You, Sir Smyth, were always exposed to an act of performance, all your life! Here, and there, everywhere!”
Why is he moving so exaggeratedly?
Wait. This is a similar kind of performance to-
    “There were a few individuals in your life that performed like this, no? Do you deny their past existence? Has your mind truly seen those days of grandeur and forgotten!?”
I think he’s just being nonsensical at this point.
    “You’re not getting the point, are you?”
    “Not at all.”
    “Aye, it’s buried that deep within ya. T’is a shame lad. Real shame.”
Bringing the cup to my mouth once more leaves me with only air. No more tea is present within my cup. Maybe this is my sign to finally leave.
    “Well, Franklin-”
    “Your bloody parents mate! Did you really forget?!”
…Huh?

Wait.
Okay.
It clicked.

    “How do you know about that?”
    “I had to let out my trump card. Sorry Amelia! I hope you don’t kill me!”
    “I would never.”
    “AH! THE WOMAN!”
From behind me came a voice I was too familiar with. Amelia leaned on the doorway with her arms crossed.
    “After all, you’re trying to help John, and you do have my gratitude for that.”
She walked up to me, showing some sorrow masked by a confident stride.
In this situation, she was really the last person I wanted to see.

As such, I cut it all off.