Alex peers at the wide little eyes staring back at her. A classroom filled with silent 7-8 year old Children, each face sporting progressively different looks of horror. She thinks she hears one child whimper in what is most certainly abject fear, and is starting to regret making an appearance.

  A child at the back of the class raises their hand–the universal sign for a question. One of the select few, who have managed to recover their wits.

  “Yes?”

  The child involuntarily whimpers–”She killed them?”

  Alex frowns. “Yes, I said that.”

  “But couldn't they just talk about it?” he asks, fists clenched, “My Mum says, talking about a problem helps a lot better than fighting.” The child finishes, posture taut. And Alex gets the feeling he's a disagreement away from stomping his foot on the ground in a tantrum.

  “Obviously she tried to talk, the brother wouldn't listen--”

  “He could have tried harder!” And there the stomp was, except from a different child. A tiny little thing almost a head shorter than her classmates.

  Alex narrows her eyes at her. “You didn't raise your hand.”

  Her hand immediately springs up, face unrelenting. And Alex would commend her determination if she didn't absolutely loathe her age group.

  “What is it?”

  “I don't like this story, it doesn't have a happily ever after.” The girl sniffs.

  Alex feels her eyes twitch in poorly concealed anger, and has to remind herself that tossing the child out a window would certainly not be appreciated. She exhales.

  “It's a Tragedy, it's not supposed to have a happily ever after.” Surely that would be easy enough to understand.

  A third hand shoots up as soon as the words are out her mouth. Obviously a second grade reading was a mistake.

  “What now?”

  This child has to temporarily relieve his mouth of his thumb to speak. “This story sucks.”

  Thankfully his opinion didn't matter. “It's a current Best Seller.”

  “Maybe it shouldn't be.” And the first child was back again on the playing field. Alex narrows her eyes at him, about to say something about his crooked milk teeth–

  “Okay children, why don't we clap for Alex’s wonderful story?” The teacher interrupts with impeccable foresight.

  Only about 3 children clap. One who for all intents and purposes was asleep up until 10 seconds ago, knowing nothing of the read.

  The teacher shoots Alex an apologetic smile, before addressing the children once more. “Let's all turn to page 4 in our coloring books, and color the very nice dinosaur.”

  Alex promptly exits the class, the teacher hot on her tail.

  “I am so sorry about all that.” She pants, rushing to catch up with her.

  Alex decides to spare her and instead stops, the colorful hallway utterly nauseating to her. “No, no it's alright.” It wasn't in fact alright, it was infuriating, but the poor woman seemed out of her depth already.

  “Children, you learn to love ‘em.” Alex forces out through grit teeth, hoping the lady doesn't notice.

  The lady dips her head in an awkward nod, before angling a thumb at the classroom door behind her.

  Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

  “I'm-- I'm going to go back. They can't be by themselves for more than 12 seconds.”

  Alex nods in turn. “Otherwise they tear the place up.” she surmises.

  “No, actually it's the school rules.” She replies deadpan.

  “Ah.”

  “Also they tear the place up.” And she has the audacity to chuckle satisfactorily.

  Alex raises an unimpressed brow, her most apathetic expression in place.

  “Yea.” The lady grounds out before retreating quickly. And Alex continues her imposing stalk through the repugnant hallway and out school.

  She strides out of the building, cringing at a billboard of a movie poster right in front of the school. ‘THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE OTHERWORLDLY’ it reads. The actors on the poster sporting nonsensical looks. A bad parody of her best selling Novel.

  She is staring hard at the poster, willing it to suddenly go up in flames when her phone rings. She rifles through her numerous jacket pockets in search of it, dropping said best seller in the process. She finds the phone in the inner left pocket, glances at the caller ID with a wince before answering.

  “Shit!”

  “No, close though. It's Chris.” The voice over the phone jibes drily.

  Self-depreciation. He was definitely angry. She pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Chris, I swear I lost track of time.”

  “Yes, I figured that out when you didn't get here 30 minutes ago, like you promised.”

  “I am so sorry.” She bends to pick up her book. “I had this reading at a school where my book ended up criticized by a bunch of 6 year olds.” She laments, the flash of a camera beside her causing her to startle. She turns to the direction of the flash and shoots the paparazzi her most wilting look.

  “Do you mind?” She asks, and the look works yet again, because the loafer scampers away.

  “Of course I mind, Alex, I've been standing here for 30 minutes!” Chris’ voice crows from the phone. Ah.

  “I am headed straight to you, right now, 30 minutes, max.” She glances at her watch while meandering through the car park.

  “So your plan is to keep me waiting a complete hour?” Chris is still saying. “Is this like the time–”

  She wedges the phone between her shoulder and ear, muffling what is sure to be a lengthy and frankly trifling tale of some random time when he felt he had been wronged. Storing her book under her armpit, she rifles through her pockets once more, this time whipping out her car keys. The muffling intensifies and she returns the phone to her ear with a sigh.

  “Chris, I checked those bottles myself. Nobody added any water to your vintage wine collection.”

  Chris sputters.

  “How would you know, you never tasted them!” he cries indignantly.

  “I don't need to taste them to know what vintage wine looks like.”

  “I don't care what you say, it tasted weird to me. Alex, if you're not here in 30 minutes–”

  “I'm standing right in front of my car, about to get in.” She jingles her car keys in the mouthpiece for assurance. “Now, if you'd only end the call so I can drive–”

  “That's enough talking for now, you need to end the call so you can drive.” Chris interrupts.

  Alex shakes her head in resigned acceptance. “Of course.”

  “30 minutes.” He repeats ominously, followed by the click of the call ending.

  She tucks her phone back into her jacket, opening her car door to enter, before driving away.

  Sometime before the Present …

  A girl walks down the street, hands tucked in her thick jacket in a clear bid to avoid the blistering cold. It isn't snowing at the moment, but the thick clumps of the white substance on the street is a testament to the blizzard that was the previous evening.

  She stops in front of a diner–eyes squinting against the neon sign strobing the diner's name across the darkness of the night–focusing on a middle aged couple inside. The couple seem very much in love, for people their age, she thinks. She stares soppily for a couple of seconds more before walking away. Barely five steps from where she last stood, when the couple exit the cheap diner into a contrastingly expensive car and drive off, zooming right by her-- snobs.

  A couple of minutes later, Alex is stood on the empty street, head raised to the night sky, face angled contentedly at the moon, when all of a sudden, Police cars. One, two, three– an awful lot, zip by her all headed the same way.

  Curious, she steps into a nearby store for the news, stilling abruptly when she takes in the scene plastered on televisions nationwide.

  Footage of thick smoke clears to reveal a car dangling dangerously by the side of a bridge. Firemen struggling to put out the fire beside a nearly ablaze tanker. The thing having slammed into the side of the bridge, in a bid to regain traction after ramming into the sleek car. A familiar look flashes across her face on revelation of the car. The couple from the restaurant.

  “... The passengers have been identified as Tech Billionaire Chris Jordan and his wife Lilian…” the Newscaster drones monotonously, and Alex contemplates.

  She has an internal conflict with herself for a solid minute, before deciding to step out of the store, and head the other way. Halting abruptly mid-walk, she digs the heels of her palm into her eyes, and exhales with a loud groan.

  “What are you doing Alex?” She questions herself, almost waiting for an answer before deciding against it. Best to do this before she started to weigh the pros and cons.

  She sighs heavily before breaking into a run, towards the accident scene.