The trees have green leaves, I notice, as I briskly walk on.
‘Look at that blue fruit, on the tree to your right.’
One of those voices in my head said, aloud.
‘Blue fruit?’ To my utter amazement, blue fruit; did I see, on turning my head to the right.
I visibly restrain myself from plucking off one of the fruits, as I hold on to my right hand with my left.
He’s the friendliest of the voices I hear. Not like those mean, nameless ones – gossiping ceaselessly about me. I do not intend to discuss them now – I am late for class.
I scurry onto class with the last ounce of willpower I possess. I am really late!
As I walk into class, my eyes meet the curious eyes of an obviously interesting teacher.
The others turn back to look at me.
To worsen the situation; the mean voices begin to discuss. They just never got tired.
‘I don’t blame them for looking at her with such contempt’, the obese male said.
How do I know he is obese? The quality of his voice; he has a certain buoyancy to his voice which I’m sure you would recognize if you met him or heard him speak.
‘Of course she is a very unreliable student.’
I really do not have to reply their grotesque remarks now, do I?
I walk briskly, painfully aware of the eyes trailing me as I walk to the front of the class, where the only available empty seat is located.
‘Your name is Lucy, yeah?’
A nod in the negative from me.
‘You had better agree to it; you definitely wouldn’t like the alternative name.’
He said, a glimmer in his eyes.
A slight nod in the affirmative, this time.
‘I would have called you Lucifer.’
Collins whispers in my ear:
‘Calm down, It’s only a prank, ok?’
‘Thanks, Collins’ I whisper back
‘Remember those stacked tables, the ones we saw across the dining hall?’
‘Collins, please, I need to focus on this class for now’
Now, he was sulking. I didn’t just feel it; I knew it!
Right now, he had resorted to removing my thoughts- how do I explain this …well, it seemed like he was sucking out thoughts from my brain.
‘Collins?’ I whisper. No answer.
‘Collins?’ A slight shuffling within me.
‘I’m sorry. Please?’
He smiled. ‘Ok…ok’
‘We’d talk later yeah?’
The lecturer was standing in front of me, arms akimbo. What have I done, this time?
‘Lucy, can’t you hear me?’
I stuttered. ‘…Sir?’
‘Do you have tardive dyskinesia, or why do your lips keep moving?
ABOUT ABIOYE PEJU
Abioye Peju is a final year medical student of Bowen University, with a palpable passion for writing. She is an ardent believer that behind every medical case, is a story itching to be told. She writes at medicology101.blogspot.com