Behind the Sun

That perfect sphere of orange. It shows off its sizzling gaze, staining the sky a bloody scent of red.

Imagination. Such a subjective human way of thinking.  Others say that it brings you across the world, letting you widen your gaze. Yes, I now see the darkness in people, the hatred in people's eyes, the coldness in their hearts. The warmth from success and the little pleasures in life have been flooded by the greed and the selfishness. That warmth in his eyes, that soothing tone, all of that fake, all made to destroy your work.

It all happened in the library. Two days before the deadline of submission. I was looking over my report that was to be handed in the next day. It was that time when he came along. Oh, that kind smile and that question that couldn’t be more normal. Lending someone your report for 5 mins. That can change your life.

The next day, I went into the classroom, proud of my new findings. Free electricity from leaves! Who would think of that? I proudly handed in my stack of papers. I looked at the professor, searching for a sigh of acknowledgement on his face, but all I saw was that austere frown.

The following lunch break, the professor called me. My mind was circling with questions. Maybe the professor wants to praise me? Or does he want to ask me some questions on my topic? Would it be suggestions on my further investigation? I was flooded with excitement, only to see him sitting next to the professor.

“Jonathan, Jalap just told me the truth. Why did you copy his work while he spent so much time into doing it? You’re acts are immoral. Immoral.” The professor shaked his head with rage. I was in shock. How could I copy his work, I did it myself! I didn’t share it with anyone, wait… No. Jalap’s face was a smug façade, his sly grin cuts through my mind. “Mr. Lee, please listen to me, he copied me…” the professor cuts me off with his furious shouts, “Stop your lies! You really think that Jalap would copy you? You?! Show me your true look! You are nothing but a filthy robber, a no-good-dirty liar…”

My heart shreded into pieces. Jalap didn’t mean it. Absolutely not him that did it. He must be there to ask the professor some questions. But who else could copy my work? No way, he wouldn’t do it. He wasn’t that kind of person. He wouldn’t do that kind of dishonored thing. No, he certainly wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry for you for that, Lozi,” he said, “you should be congratulated on your work instead. Congrats!” That pride radiating off of him, almost tangible. The pride of stealing. Yes, he was the true stealer, the fiend of my murder.

After that, I headed off for the beach, gazing at that tragic sunset. The pool of red slowly fades as the sky darkens. I am not angry, nor accusing. I blame myself.