fly forward a few years /open/

[Professor Shiloh Malixi]

SHILOH
_{put your shoes on
run away from here.
i can't get involved
this is oh so weird.}

'Dad! How'd you do that?'
'Magic, young one.'
'Do it again, do it again!'
'Alright. Slow down.'
'That's amazing! Again, dad!'
~~~

Mad scientist. That was the look the professor had as he gazed at the assembly of rose petals he was creating. He looked very, very much like a mad scientist. Brilliant, but unrestrained. His hair was sticking up from him running his hands through it anxiously. This was worth it. Patient as ever, the professor was picking roses which he could only assume the Founder would forgive him for. This intrusion on the plant life seemed harmless, though; there were enough kids controlling plants that it wouldn't make much of a difference on this island.

After the roses were in his hand, he delicately separated the petals from the rest of the flower. The petals were then placed carefully and frozen in that moment to reside with the rest of them. So there were petals now making a picture in mid air. Brilliant. The picture was a heart because it was a simple shape, and because it seemed just as good as anything else since he was using the reddest of roses. This, this strange display of power in the solitary confines of the garden was a sign of happiness for this man. Boredom was more elaborate. The professor leaned forward again, grabbing yet another rose from the bush. So far he'd de-petaled five, the remains of which were in a neat pile by his feet. Speaking of his feet, he was standing in just his black socks. Where his shoes were was a mystery- they definitely weren't in sight. Shi could be just a little bit strange.

[Professor Alexandra Fieldings]

Conjunction junction,
What’s your function?
Hooking up words
And phrases and clauses.

“We didn’t start the fire.
It was always burning,
Since the world’s been turning.
We didn’t start the fire.
No, we didn’t light it,
But we tried to fight it.

Joseph Stalin, Malenkov, Nasser and Prokofiev,
Rockefeller, Campanella, Communist Bloc.

Roy Cohn, Juan Peron--“ Hello, there. Alex breaks off suddenly, her voice hanging in the still air around her, the last name, Juan Peron (an Argentin military officer and politician, three times elected for President of Argentina, though he only managed to serve one full term) cut off suddenly, the end of it clipped, unfinished-sounding. A strange sight unfolds in front of her-- Shiloh Malixi, in his sock-feet, hanging rose petals in a heart in front of him. Hm. Odd. She takes a few steps forward, and calls out.

“What’cha doin’ there, Malixi?” Some might think it weird that Alex calls him simply Malixi, but it’s not. For her, it’s usual. She refers to everyone by his or her last name. Even her students. It was something she had done growing up, just with her small circle of friends, except for the ones with one-syllable names, or those who had siblings in the same room, or something like that. It’s just something that, as her childhood friend, Diana, had said, was an Alex-ism.