Nouvelles Vagues 6

The graduation ceremony was drawing to a close. All that remained was the traditional and tedious end-of-ceremony speech.

But this year, it was Faustin Natas who was going to give it. And it was going to be deadly!

Faustin was no ordinary student. He was part of the student exchange program, but no one had ever really understood which foreign country he had come from. Some said Eastern Europe, judging by his exotic accent. Probably Italy, others said, judging by his command of Latin.

Whatever the case, Faustin was meticulous, diligent and always discreet. So much so that one sometimes wondered if he was really there. But his results spoke for him. All his teachers were already predicting a great future for him. Visionaries if ever there was one…

Faustin's demeanor also stood out from the rest of the student cliques. He managed to get along with everyone, from jocks to nerds, cheerleaders and even the underdogs. He seemed to know everyone, and always had the right word for everyone at the right time. In fact, he was very popular, despite his quirky look. He probably had the biggest collection of Morbid Angel T-shirts this side of the Mississippi, and was frequently caught humming the band's various songs in the corridors, such as “Lord of all Fevers and Plague”, “Fall From Grace” and “Piles of Little Arms”. But people easily forgave him for his little eccentricities, because that didn't make him a bad person, after all.

So Faustin approached the podium, wearing the traditional black toga and square hat, with the pompom dangling from the side giving him a naughty look that had the whole front row swooning. He tapped the microphone on the lectern and beamed “Bonsoir!” despite the fact that it was barely 11.30 a.m. and early in the morning. Typical Faustin! Always out of step.

The hundred or so people in the crowd knew him well, and a big smile spread across their faces.

Clearly proud of his introduction, he smiled back and unfolded a long piece of paper in his hand. Then, a second later, he rolled the paper into a ball and threw it over his shoulder.

“I'd written a speech, but... who cares!” he tossed to the crowd with a grin. "It doesn't matter now. It's over, it'll all be behind us soon."

The crowd of students applauded, the teaching staff a little less so, duty of reserve obliging. Although everyone was delighted that the year was coming to an end.

"But before the festivities begin, I'd like to say a few words anyway. Don't worry, it'll be brief.

I'd like to pay tribute to one person in particular, who gave me a role model to follow. I know that people don't know me as well as I know them, but if there's one thing to remember about me, it's that I am indeed my father's worthy son. It was he who taught me everything, who instilled in me the right values, teaching me that everyone was important, that every individual counted. He taught me, by his example, that you can fall from very, very high places, but that things always work out in the end, if you give yourself the means to achieve your ambitions."

Faustin paused for a moment to let the thunder rumble and drink a glass of water. The weather, which until now had been perfect for outdoor grilling and jumping in the pool, was beginning to change, and clouds were becoming visible on the near horizon. The storm was already rumbling. But the audience listening to Faustin paid no attention for the moment, totally captivated by his speech. It had to be said that it was quite rare for him to talk about himself or his family, so people were bound to be listening. They were eager to see whether or not their most fanciful theories about him would be confirmed.

The storm roared louder and closer, but Faustin spoke again, and the sky fell silent.

"My father, who unfortunately couldn't be with us today. He's still out of town. But I'm sure that wherever he is, he's proud of my work, and of what I'm going to do in the future."

Faustin paused again to smile broadly at the audience. 2-3 people in the front row twitched a little when they saw him, because perhaps his canines were a little sharper than average, or his eyes a little redder than usual. But the rest of the crowd didn't notice a thing, not even the first drops of a rain that looked a little too red to be honest.

“So, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank him solemnly for everything he's taught me.”

The atmosphere was curiously electric both on stage and among the spectators, and when Faustin spoke again to conclude his speech, he raised both arms, pointing the index and ring fingers of each hand high into the sky, triggering a thunderous roar from the crowd, possibly caused by his words.

Or by the blood-red rain that was now pouring down on the audience.

Or perhaps it was the lightning bolt that shot from the stage into the audience, blowing the brains out of innocent bystanders like overcooked strawberry popcorn.

The last thing the back row could hear before being drowned in blood from the sky and the wave of head explosions was a thunderous voice from beyond the grave crying out a guttural:

“Thank you Satan!”