I’m sitting in a chair, waiting to be interrogated. Or at least that’s how it feels like. Surprisingly, I’m outside, whereabouts unknown, not tied up. Even if I was, I could easily unknot the rope. My father taught me lots of things before he died due to an unknown cause along with my mother. A figure appears and takes his mask off, only to have another mask underneath him. As he speaks, I try to recognize his voice, but it’s inhumane. “This is your world if you don’t stop it,” he says, his voice sounding robotic. I stand up. “What?” I ask in confusion. A hand grabs me from a tree and I scream as I’m pulled through the tree like it wasn’t even there. Woah, I think. I’m feeling so many emotions all at once. Fear, confusion, surprised. Suddenly, a red storm appears before me. Red lightning strikes, red streets in the sky, really dark gray clouds, and a red, black, humongous figure causing all of this. By extending his hand, lightning bolts fall on the person he’s pointing at. I gasp in fear and confusion. Then the image fades away and I see a trail of blood that leads to a room that’s calling my name. I slowly walk inside it and see Aimee, Lauren, Chloe, Lindsay, and her boyfriend dead on the ground and the figure is standing in front of them. I bend down and try to stroke Aimee’s hair but as soon as I touch her, the image fades away. “No!” I scream. Then I’m sucked in a portal where I see everyone on the street dead, and the street is cracked in half, and the cracked line looks like red and black magma. I put my hand over my mouth and blink my tears away. Then, I wake up and gasp really loudly, as if I’ve been resuscitated. I breath in and out and open my eyes. The person who kidnapped me also opens his eyes and lets go of my wrist. “Save everyone,” and then he sways his hands and disappears, and I’m teleported back to my high school. I walk in and surmise we switched classes. My assumption is right, and I search for my class. I peek inside a classroom and recognize the people in there, so I walk in there and take my seat. “And where were you, Ms. Wynder?” a lady says firmly while slapping a ruler with her hand insistently. I think she’s stricter than the other woman. If she gives me a hard time, she’s in for trouble. “The bathroom,” I respond coldly and blankly as I place my materials on my extended table in front of me. Then a girl sits next to me and I roll my eyes before I notice who it is. Blake. She smiles at me and then the annoying teacher starts jabbering again. “That’s an awful long amount of time to use the restroom.” she says. I just now realize her British accent. “And you’re wasting an awful amount of time by interrogating me,” I snap back. “You’ll get nothing out of me.” “It’s true,” Blake defends me. I look at her and whisper, “I don’t need your help.” She looks at me and then continues talking. “I saw her in the bathroom,” she winks at me, careful enough to not let anyone notice it. “I couldn’t get anything out of her. All she told me was her name. But yes, she was in the bathroom, and yes, you’ll get nothing out of her.” “Very well,” the lady says. “I’m Mrs. Farnez. Discipline is the very best principle in my class. I already know your name.” Why is every teacher’s name so similar? It’s strange, but then again, isn’t everything strange? “I’m always trusted in here,” Blake whispers. “I’m every teacher’s favorite student.” “Stop boasting,” I scoff annoyingly. I open my notebook and take notes as Mrs. Farnez writes stuff on the board. But I find myself zoning out as my thoughts bounce around in my head until one specific thought stays in one place. Who was that person? What did it mean? What do I have to do? How do I save everyone? Why am I the chosen one? I can’t do anything. I’m not ready for that type of responsibility. And what does this have to do with what happened in the bathroom? Why was my family coming back to haunt me? Why did they blame their death on me? Is it possible that I was the reason they died? Oh, please, I don’t want to do this. I don’t want this type of responsibility. Oh, please, my life just started. I don’t want it to end. How do I save everyone I love? Please, please.
From class to class, subject to subject, school takes up most of my time. By the end of school, I storm out of the building and straight toward home, not even bothering to greet anybody. I have to investigate for answers. I run up the stairs and into my room, locking the door and throwing my bookbag on my bed. I would do my homework, but I’m too busy for that. If I have any chance to save the world, I have to at least try. Maybe even skip the next few days of school. Fake an illness or stay at someone else’s house for the next few days. The closest thing I have to a friend right now is Blake, but I have no idea where she lives, and by asking her I’d have to physically go to school. I don’t have her phone number or any information about her other than her name and that she’s liked by many teachers. Plus, Lindsay hasn’t bought me a phone yet. When Blake said she couldn’t get anything out of me in the restroom, oh, the feeling is incredibly mutual. So my only option is to fake an illness. I scrabble through my closet, throwing random objects out until I find something to put clues on. I find a humongous poster and hold it up high and smile as I whisper, “This’ll do.” I hold it out on my bed and grab a sharpie and write stuff down. All I have is that I have to prevent it from destroying the world. So I decide to write questions I have to answer instead. The poster is filled with questions by the time I’m finished, so I roll it up and hide it under my bed. Not the best hiding spot, but it’ll do. Plus, I don’t understand why anyone would go under my bed whatsoever. Anyways, maybe I can ask the police for information. Maybe check if they’ve also been investigating about it or at least something similar. I doubt they have, but it’s all I’ve got right now. As I twist my bedroom doorknob, someone from the other side opens it, too, and of course their pull is stronger than mine. It really doesn’t take that much strength to open a door. Really, the only reason babies can’t do it is because they’re short. But they have the brawn for it. Then Lindsay appears before me and is holding a plate in her hand. “You didn’t get to eat dinner,” she says concerningly. “Are you hungry? Is something wrong? Do you want me to feed you?” That last question sounds ludicrous, honestly. A 32-year-old woman feeding a 14-year-old freshman who is fully capable of feeding herself. Even Chloe can feed herself. I don’t understand why I get the special treatment. “No, no,” I reply, trying not to sound rude. But she spoils me way too much, honestly. “Just put it on my desk. I’ll eat it later.” “Why don’t you want to eat it now?” she asks as she places it on my desk. I’m taken aback by the question. What do I say? Ugh, this is why I like my biological family better. They never asked stupid questions like this. “Just not hungry,” I lie. Then, while she’s turned around, I run out of the house and close the door and breath in and out anxiously, hoping she doesn’t notice, hoping nobody saw me.
