Whoever determined that essays are the best way to evaluate a student's understanding of a subject needs to go suck an egg. I mean seriously there have to be simpler, easier, less time-consuming ways to prove my understanding of a subject. Or I guess proving that someone else understands a subject.

  Sighing I rub the dryness and weariness out from my eyes. Returning my focus to the blinking cursor on my laptop's screen I read through the conclusion paragraph. Satisfied with the work I save the document and email it to a classmate of mine.

  Closing the browser I lean back in my chair and breathe out a sigh of relief. With that one done I should have made somewhere north of $300. Taking a glance at the time I realize that if I don’t get ready for school now then I will be late.

  “Fuck.”

  Shaking the fog of tiredness from my mind I set to work getting ready for my day. As I do so the smell of toasted bread and eggs wafts through the apartment I share with my aunt. My stomach growls causing me to hasten my dressing.

  I find the food still steaming on the table. Falling into our usual routine I sit down and dig in. Whoever said that eggs and toast are a bland breakfast clearly never had my Aunt’s eggs and toast. I don’t know what she puts in it but good lord is it delicious. The eggs nearly melt in your mouth from how fluffy they are.

  Washing the dishes I head back to my room to finish packing my backpack. Once done I check the time again and curse. I spent too long eating. If I hurry I might be able to make the bus.

  Bolting out of my room I race to the front door of our apartment only to be stopped by a tall slender woman with raven black hair and grey eyes that always remind me of thunder clouds.

  “You’re not leaving without saying goodbye.” Her voice is stern but her lips crack into a warm smile.

  “Love ya, bye.” I say hastily as I try to go around her.

  She laughs at my attempt and grabs my arms.

  “Not so fast. That’s not how we say goodbye.”

  She pulls me into a tight embrace. Her arm squeezes just tight enough to convey emotions that are too strong for words alone. My arms wrap around her for a second before we part.

  “That’s better. But another thing. When I was scrying this morning I found omens of death in your path today.” Her face contorts into one of concern.

  “I’ll keep an eye out.” I give her, hoping that it’ll alleviate her worry.

  “As you should, but I worry it won't be enough.”

  As she speaks she reaches for a woven lace necklace that sits around her neck. She removes the necklace revealing a thumbnail-sized crystal that glitters a beautiful purple color in the apartment’s light. Instantly I recognize the necklace as one of the protection charms she sells at her shop.

  “Here.” She says handing me the charm. “I’ve been charging this one for a while. Hopefully, it’ll have enough power to protect you from whatever is going to meet you today. I can’t have my little birthday boy dying on me.”

  I take the charm knowing that trying to argue with her will only cause her to forcefully put the necklace on me. And honestly, if it helps alleviate her worry then what’s the harm?

  “Thank you, but you know it’s not my birthday today.”

  She smiles at my words and ruffles my hair.

  “Hey stop tha…”

  “Semantics, you were meant to be born today you know? You’re just stubborn like Alice and didn’t want to leave the womb. Be safe out there and have a good day Jason. Now go before you’re late for school.”

  I try to prevent a smile from splitting my face. I'm stubborn like my mother? I don't know why that makes me happy but it does. Probably because it's another part of me I don't associate with my father.

  Nodding, I race out the door and down the hall of our high-rise apartment. If only I had looked back. I would have seen a face of fear and concern unlike any I’ve ever seen on my Aunt’s face. I might have even heard her muttering to herself about letting me go to school in the first place. I might have stayed if I saw that face. However, I didn’t.

  Leaving the building I jog down the handful of blocks to the bus stop that would take me to my school. As I get there I check the time again confirming that I shouldn’t have missed the bus. Taking shelter in the bus overhang I pull out my phone and plug in some headphones. Music starts blaring in my ears loud enough to block out the hustle and bustle of the city around me.

  Time marches on as I wait for the bus. Cold gusts of air warn all that pay attention that summer is definitely over and fall is in full effect.

  Motion across the street catches my attention. Pulling my focus to a shadow rocking back and forth in an alley. Watching the figure it emerges from the shadows revealing a homeless person with disheveled clothes and greasy dark hair. Their skin is a pale shade, which isn’t uncommon for the Pacific Northwest.

  The figure raises its head revealing a slacked-jawed, patchy bearded older man. However, none of that is what caught my attention. His eyes were dull. The usual twinkle of light that I expect from someone’s eyes lies dormant. The sight of it sent shivers down my spine as if I was staring at the eyes of a dead thing.

  A loud car horn blares snapping my attention from the strange homeless man to a large black Ford tuck. It pulls up to the curb before me blocking me from seeing the man.

  The driver’s window rolls down revealing a familiar older man. He flashes me a bright smile.

  “Morning kiddo. Need a lift?” He asks with a slight southern accent.

  Before I can respond the familiar face of my best friend appears from the passenger seat. Sweet blue eyes curtained by blond hair peer at me with a pleading look. I

  “Hey, Jay.” Abby says.

  At the request in her eyes, my decision is cemented.

  “If it’s not too much of a problem Mr. Walker. Morning Abby.”

  “Course not son. Hop in.”

  I hear a click in the car doors. Opening the back seat I climb in. Situating myself I take a glance at the alleyway where I saw the man. Yet now it’s just some dark dank alley again with no strange spine-chilling figures. He was probably just on drugs or something. That's why his eyes were all dead like.

  “Ready?” Mr. Walker asks.

  “Yes sir.”

  His truck’s engine revs as he pulls back into traffic.

  A ding from my phone pulls my attention to it. Checking my phone I find a text message from the classmate I emailed the last essay to. As I open the messaging app another notification dings on my phone, this time from a money sharing app.

  “Someone’s popular this mornin'.” Mr. Walker jokes.

  “It’s just my aunt.” I offer with a slight chuckle.

  “How is Sabrina doing?” Abby asks.

  “She’s doing well. Stressed about bills but otherwise she’s good.”

  “Awe. I’m sorry to hear that.” Abby offers.

  “It’s life.” I shrug.

  “She still working that witchy shop on Eagle Street?” Mr. Walker asks.

  Checking the finance app I confirm that I was sent the right amount before answering the text message.

  “Yes sir.”

  “That’s a shame. She’s a brilliant woman. To see her wasting her talents on such a thing. She could probably be some high-end manager at some company or heck, even a CEO somewhere if she gave up that fantasy hobby of hers.”

  “DAD!” Abby shrieks.

  “What?!” He asks back confused.

  “You can’t just say something like that!” She reprimands him.

  “What did I say?”

  “It’s okay Abby.” I offer in hopes of ending any argument.

  I shoot a text off to the classmate who sent me the money, confirming that I received it. Then I delete the messages and put my phone away.

  Besides, he’s probably right. My aunt graduated valedictorian and graduated from business college with a master’s. She even started working on her PHD before she had to drop out to take care of me.

  Shaking my head I banish the guilt that tries to rear its ugly head at the thought. Turning my focus back to the conversation I find Abby looking at me with a concerned look.

  “You sure?”

  I nod in response to her.

  “Sorry if I offended you or Sabrina in any way. It wasn’t my intention.” Mr. Walker says.

  “It’s okay. No offense taken sir.”

  Silence falls over the car as we hit the highway. Traffic slows us down, but we are still way ahead of where the bus would be at this time.

  “Did you ever receive the materials shipment you’re waiting on?” Abby asks her father breaking the silence.

  “It’s supposed to be here today. Apparently, there are supply and transport shortages across the entire country. Jake said it has to do with other countries like China going on lockdown and not having anything leave or enter the country.” Mr. Walker answers.

  “Jake’s the one contracting y’all right?” Abby asks.

  “On a technicality. We’re being contracted by the government but he’s the one overseeing this project.”

  “Why are the other countries on lockdown?” I ask.

  “Depends on who you talk to. The news will say it’s due to civil unrest. Jake says it’s due to some disease sweeping the world. A conspiracy fanatic buddy of mine will tell you that they’re gearing up for war with us.”

  His words echo in my mind bringing with it a recent memory of a post I read on some forum. It mentioned something about the government suppressing news about a plague that’s supposedly to wipe humanity out. When I read it I disregarded it as the mad ramblings of some basement-dwelling internet troll. But what if there was some truth in what they were saying?

  “What do you think dad?”

  “I think there’s no real point in speculation. The fact is they aren’t importing or exporting anything and that’s a problem. The world’s economy relies on sharing and trading resources. If one country suddenly isolates itself, especially one as large as China, it’s going to cause financial strain everywhere.”

  “Will we be fine?” Abby asks.

  “Don’t know honey. I prefer to be optimistic but it never hurts to hedge your bets. This weekend we’ll do some shopping to stock up in case things like toilet paper get scares.”

  “Okay.”

  We fall into silence again as the exit to the school comes into view. However, instead of being able to enter the exit we had to get behind another vehicle stuck in the traffic blocking the exit.

  “Well damn.” Mr. Walker expressed. “You kids might wind up late.”

  “Still faster than taking the bus.” I say.

  “What do you think the hold-up is?” Abby asks.

  “Dunno. Might be an accident.” Mr. Walker answers.

  Long moments pass as we wait for the traffic to move. The blaring of horns becomes a common occurrence as more and more cars start to pile up behind us. Eventually, we even start seeing people getting out of their cars to inspect what the hold-up is.

  “Alright, kids I’m going to see if I can find out what’s going on. Stay here.”

  “Be safe daddy.”

  “Always am honey.”

  With that, Mr. Walker exits the vehicle leaving Abby and me to wait.

  “You think everything is okay?” Abby asks turning to me.

  For a moment my mind races back to the fortune my aunt gave me this morning. Death is supposed to play a part in my day. For a second I think of letting Abby know this but the moment I catch her blue eyes shaded with concern I change my mind.

  “Yeah. Your dad probably hit the nail on its head. It’s probably some accident that’s taking a while to clean up. It probably happened right at the intersection and that’s why they haven’t been able to push traffic along.” I answer.

  The concern in Abby’s eyes fades just a little.

  “I hope no one got hurt.”

  Nodding in response I let the conversation end. Her response reminded me just how caring Abby is. She never likes seeing people hurt and will be the first to offer someone aid when they’re in need.

  Moments later Abby’s father returns to the truck.

  “Looks like a multi-car collision at the intersection. They got the full brigade of emergency responders up there. Even got some folk in suites running around taking reports or something.” He states as he gets into the truck.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  “Folk in suites?” Abby clarifies.

  “Yeah, I think they're the government or something. Got some blacked-out vehicles with government plates blocking off this ramp to the intersection.”

  “Why would they be at a crash?” I ask.

  Mr. Walker shrugs his large shoulders. “Dunno. When I tried to ask one of the officers there what was going on I got yelled at. The officer said that it was an active investigation site and that we needed to get back so as to not interfere.”

  “So what do we do?” Abby asks.

  Mr. Walker took a look at the highway. Although traffic was piling up on in the right lane the other two still had moving vehicles moving.

  “We should probably use a different exit.” Mr. Walker says as he carefully pulled back into traffic. His engine roared as we sped off from the clogged exit.

  The next exit was luckily free of any accidents. The car drop-off for the school quickly came into sight causing Mr. Walker to pull over to let us out.

  “Alright, y’all have a great day.” Mr. Walker said.

  “You too daddy. Love ya.”

  “Love you too honey.”

  “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Walker.”

  “Anytime kiddo.”

  With that, Mr. Walker pulled back into traffic to head off to work. Abby watched as he left before turning back to me.

  "Let's go.” She said walking towards the school.

  Nodding, I join her as we walk towards our large school. The building is three stories tall and is recognized as one of the most prestigious schools in America let alone the Pacific Northwest. Originally it was apparently supposed to be a sister school for Cambridge but the project was abandoned due to funding. It was later bought out by a group wanting to start a private school.

  As we enter the school security checkpoints await us. Handing my backpack to one of the security guards I walk through the metal detector without a problem and retrieve my belongings after they’re searched through.

  After Abby gets through we continue on our way. The senior lockers are kept on the third floor where they host most of the advanced classes. Only classes that need special accommodations like our science lab classrooms, gyms, and shop classes are held on the first floor, along with our library.

  Avoiding the ever busy elevators Abby and I use the main staircase to get to the third floor. Once on the third floor, it doesn’t take much longer to get to our section of lockers.

  “So what’s the plan for your birthday?” Abby asks.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think there are any plans.” I answer as I finish grabbing my books from the locker.

  “Well, that won’t do. You’re going to be nineteen! We need to do something.” Abby retorts with mock annoyance.

  As she talks a presence settles behind me. One that instantly causes the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end. I fight the urge to let my annoyance reveal itself on my face.

  “Wait a dang second. It’s the Orphan’s birthday?” A deep voice from behind me says.

  Without turning I already know the owner of the voice. A boy by the name of Derrick. Our school's quarterback, who embodies the stereotype of the high school jock. Blond hair, blue eyes, and a sense of entitlement so strong it borders being dumb.

  “And you’re turning nineteen! What, were you held back or something? Are you so dumb that you had to repeat a grade?” He asks, laughing like he just told a great joke.

  His gang of football players and cheerleaders laugh with him. At his taunt, I feel a heat build in my chest. A desire to wipe the snarky grin off Derrick’s face. To redirect the pain he intended to cause me back onto him.

  However, I don’t act on the heat. I push it down into the depths of my stomach. Banishing it before it can cause any problems.

  Shrugging my backpack on, I continue walking to class. Ignoring the jock still laughing at me with his goons.

  “What? Too stupid to realize I’m talking to you? Makes one wonder how you got into this school. You know I overheard my father mentioning that he heard a rumor that your aunt is exchanging favors with the principal of the school for your tuition.” Derrick says, his voice dropping at the word favor.

  The heat in my stomach flares out of control. It blazes into an inferno of flames consuming me. It whispers to me to turn around and punch Derrick. To make him hurt for insinuating such a thing.

  But I don’t do that. Instead, I take a deep breath and continue walking away. My stomach churning as I force the flames into a bottle.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you Derrick?” Abby demands. “You do realize that Jay's grades are leagues above you right? If it’s anyone's family needing to exchange favors for tuition wouldn’t it be yours?”

  “Little Bitch.” Derrick growls.

  Turning I snatch Abby’s hand and pull her with me. Forcing us further away from the loud-mouthed dick.

  “That’s right. Follow your cowardly loser boyfriend.” Derrick hollers after us.

  I feel Abby tense in my grasp and turn to respond to Derrick. I pull on her arm a little harder stopping her from responding.

  “Jay, what the hell?” Abby asks.

  “Leave it.” I tell her.

  “Why? He shouldn’t get away with saying shit like that.”

  She’s right. But the teachers won’t do anything about it. And if it’s left up to me I would take it too far. But I can’t tell her that. And I don’t want to see her getting hurt by trying to protect me or my aunt.

  “It just feeds into his ego. He wants to get under our skin. Walking away robs him of that satisfaction.”

  “Still! We should tell a teacher or something.”

  “And tell them what? That our star quarterback is bullying a nerd? It’s a tale as old as time. It’s not worth it.”

  “Then what are we supposed to do?”

  “Swallow the rage and live our best lives regardless?” I offer.

  It’s the mature thing to do, right? Not the cowardly. If we engaged and fought back then we are just being as childish. Or at least that’s what all the adults say.

  “That’s bullshit Jason and you know it.” Abby pulls her hand free stopping in the hallway.

  Her tone alone lets me know that she’s still angry, still wanting to fight back against the perceived injustice. But she also dropped the nickname she gave me. She only does that when she's really annoyed with me.

  “It is what it is.”

  “It’s cowardly. If you want things to change you have to act Jason. If you want him to stop you have to make him stop.”

  I am a coward.

  “He’ll lose interest when he realizes he doesn’t get the attention he wants from me.”

  Or at least that’s what the psychology books say.

  “Whatever.” Abby says storming off.

  Sighing I adjust my backpack and continue towards my first class. My stomach still churns with emotions I can’t pinpoint or force out of my perception. Ignoring it I sit at my desk and get ready for the day.

  The morning flashes by in a blur. AP US History is followed by a PE class. Then I finish my morning with AP Chemistry before lunch. I barely paid attention to the classes as the feeling in my stomach only grew.

  Is Abby upset with me? Or was she just mad at the situation? Should I apologize to her at lunch?

  My eyes find the digital clock attached to the classroom's intercom. Only a handful of minutes before it sounds off. Slyly checking my phone I find no notifications from Abby. However, I do find that I have a handful of unread messages from Sabrina.

  Curiosity consumes me as Sabrina rarely texts me while I’m at school. Opening the messages I start reading them.

  “Everything’s fine but I was attacked.”

  I feel my blood pressure rise as I imagine a hundred different scenarios where Sabrina was hurt.

  “Some crazy guy tried to bite me or something.”

  Fuck fuck fuck. My hands shake, making reading the next message harder.

  “But your aunt is a total badass. I kick the fucker in the balls and was able to lock myself in the shop before he got to me.”

  A smiley emoji accents the last message. At the site of it, part of me realizes that she is really okay. She wouldn’t use an emoji if the situation was bad.

  Relief floods through me lifting a weight off my shoulders that I didn’t realize fell on me. Reading on I have to shake my head at my aunt. Why didn’t she send everything in a single message or start off with something other than ‘Everything’s fine but I was attacked’?

  “The police collected the dick and took my report. I wanted to let you know before the news could get to you some other way.”

  The bell rings releasing us for lunch. Collecting my stuff I join the students in our march through the halls to where ever we chose to spend our lunch break. As I do I call my aunt.

  “Hey. Hey. How’s my studious little academic doing?” She asks in a chipper voice.

  “How am I doing!? How are you doing? Are you okay?”

  “I thought I texted that I was fine.”

  “You’re kidding right?”

  “No?”

  “You can’t start a story like that!”

  “But everything is fine.”

  Silence follows her as I refuse to respond to that. Hoping that my annoyance with such a claim is felt over the phone.

  “Sorry, but how else am I supposed to start?”

  “I don’t know.” I sigh. “Not by texting probably. Maybe even with a phone call.”

  “I’m not going to get in the way of your education.” She says with a laugh.

  Sighing I laugh as well.

  “So you’re okay?” I ask.

  “Absolutely. I knew something bad was going to happen today so I was on the lookout for anything strange.” Sabrina falls into a better retelling of what happened. As she talks I find my usual spot where I spend my lunch.

  “After the police left I sent you the messages and opened the shop. Kinda pissed that the whole morning was spent dealing with this shit though.”

  “I’m just glad that you’re okay.”

  “You kidding? I’m the greatest Witch of the Pacific Northwest. Ain’t no way some crazy hobo is going to get the better of me.”

  We both laugh. As we do my brain circles back around to something she said earlier in the conversation.

  “Wait a second I thought the ill fortune reading you had today was for me?”

  “No, it was for both of us. It honestly still has me quite worried.” She says. “How has your morning been?”

  My mind races back to the encounter I had with Derrick.

  “Abby’s dad gave me a ride to school. Otherwise, it’s been an average day.”

  For a moment Sabrina says nothing.

  “Okay. But if something does happen don’t hesitate to call me.”

  “Will do.”

  “Okay, I gotta get back to work. I love you. Talk to you later.”

  “Love you too.”

  The call ends leaving me alone in the hallway. Taking a look at the time I find that just a little over half of our lunch break has passed. By now Abby typically has gotten her lunch and has joined me. By now I would usually be eating whatever bits of her lunch that she didn’t want to eat.

  I guess she’s still mad at me. Sighing I take out my headphones and play some music as I work on some schoolwork. A bell signals the end of our lunch break and I head off to my next class.

  Once in class, I find myself sitting behind Abby. Part of me wants to tap her on her shoulder and ask her if she is mad at me. However, the smarter side of me stops myself from doing so.

  It doesn’t matter what she’s upset about. She isn’t interacting with me and walked away meaning that she wants space from me. I should respect her wants and let her have the space.

  As Mrs. Hernandez drowns on about the assigned reading I find my eyelids growing heavy. Her voice has a smooth cadence and flow to it. It always makes me a little sleepy. However, with a night of no sleep, I’m especially susceptible to it.

  A little nap wouldn’t hurt. Right?

  A sea of grey swirls around me in a void of nothingness. The boundaries I recognize as myself and the world beyond me blur as the mist invades me. Voices whisper in the swirls of grey. Nearly inaudible to me, yet a part of me knows what they are and who they belong to.

  Suppressed memories threaten to break forth from the swirls of grey around me. Memories of a night filled with violence, tears, and sirens.

  I push back against the grey mist. Refusing to let it bring those memories to the surface. As I do so the boundary between me and the mist becomes more solid, more real.

  Beyond the vague voices from memories of years past, a new voice rises to my attention. A demanding voice spears through the swirls of grey mist with the authority belonging to someone far too used to dealing with students.

  “Jayson! I don’t sleep on your time so why should you sleep on mine?” Mrs. Hernandez's voice invades my mind. Ripping me from the world of grey mist and suppressed memories.

  My eyes fly open to find a furious Mrs. Hernandez standing tall above me. Her dark eyes peer past her red-horned glasses and down her nose to scrutinize me.

  “I get it’s hard these days for you kids with all your phones and video games consuming all of your time. But staying up all night wasting your time with them is no excuse to be napping in my class, Jayson.” Mrs. Hernandez scolds me. Now, I think it’s time to see just how much you have managed to learn through osmosis.”

  Mrs. Hernandez leaves my desk and makes her way to her desk. Once there she begins to rifle through a filing cabinet behind her desk. My cheeks burn with embarrassment as I try to ignore the poorly hidden amusement of my classmates.

  “Now you can all thank Mr. Jason for this Pop quiz.”

  She hands a stack of pages to the person at the front of each row of desks. With the expectation being that they will take a page and pass the rest to the person behind them. Groans escape the mouths of almost every student in the class as we receive the quiz.

  “Thanks, orphan boy.” Derrick says from the seat to my left.

  His words wiggle their way through my mind. They try to ignite the flames of rage in me. Ignoring him as best as I can I force the words out of my mind.

  “Are you okay?” Abby asks.

  Abby’s dazzling blue eyes lock onto mine. Concern floods her gaze causing a twinge of guilt in me.

  A stack of quizzes appears on my desk.

  “Yeah, sorry about this morning.”

  Something flickers through the worry.

  “Not what I meant. You look exhausted."

  Taking a copy of the quiz for myself I pass the rest to the student behind me.

  “Oh.” Is it that noticeable? “Yeah, sorry, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  “Were you up all night doing other kids' homework?”

  Sighing I nod. I know she doesn’t approve of me doing them. But how can I say no to a little over a grand every week?

  She sighs and turns around in her seat.

  “You need to take better care of yourself.”

  “I will.” I say.

  “Alright, these shouldn’t take more than ten minutes. The time starts now.” Mrs. Hernandez says setting an old school alarm clock as she does so.

  With that, the sound of pens hitting paper fills the room as we begin the quiz. Questions about situations from the assigned reading fill the first five questions. All multiple choice and easy to answer, if you read the assigned reading.

  As the quiz continues the occasional cough escapes some of the students. Their coughing reminds me of the conversation we had in Mr. Walker's truck. Specifically the idea that some disease is causing countries to shut their boarders. If it's true then should I be worried about so many people coughing? The guy Mr. Walker heard that from was probably just misinformed or something.

  The timer makes a ding sound signaling that we only have five more minutes in the quiz. Turning my focus back to the test I get to work on the last five questions, which are in short-answer form. They ask for the thematic significance of scenes or iconography brought up in the reading. A little more tricky than the multiple choice but still easy enough to answer with time to spare.

  As I finish the last question my eyes gaze up at the timer sitting on Mrs. Hernandez’s desk. With two minutes until it rings, I’m left with time to kill. Part of me knows I should go over the answers I provided for the quiz, but I hate doing that.

  Instead, I let my eyes fall on the teacher grading assignments at her desk. An elderly teacher with only a handful of years before retirement. Honestly, despite her previous scolding, she isn’t a bad teacher. Her voice can get a bit monotonous sometimes, lulling me to sleep. But if you respect her and do the assignments you typically have nothing to worry about.

  My eyes drift from her to the window behind her desk. A blackout curtain blocks my view from the outside. With the school being on a hill and the classroom being on the third story the window offers a decent view of the city. Because of that Mrs. Hernandez typically keeps the curtains drawn closed, in fear of the cityscape being a distraction to us students.

  From there my eyes fall to a partially built bookcase next to the window. Mrs. Hernandez refused the help of the maintenance staff stating that she is still spry enough to put together her own furniture. She always took a weird sense of pride in putting together all the furniture in the room. From the desk, she sits at to the bookcases lining the walls and even the standing closets. All pieced together by her now old and shaky hands.

  The timer buzzes signaling the end of the quiz. The pages are quickly passed to the front of the class and collected by Mrs. Hernandez. After collecting them Mrs. Hernandez shuffles the quizzes and passes them back out to us.

  As the quizzes get passed back, each of us are left with someone else’s quiz. I take out a red pen and ready myself to grade the quiz before me.

  “Who wants to read the first questions?” Mrs. Hernandez asks.

  A girl in the front of the glass with large round glasses and messy brown hair raises her hand.

  “Alright, Lilly please read the first questions.”

  “How many men does Grendel kill on his first night at Herot?”

  “And who has the ans…r?” Mrs. Hernandez begins to ask but before she can get the question out she is racked with a coughing fit.

  As she coughs Mrs. Hernandez makes her way to her desk. There she rips some tissues from the box on her desk, using the tissues to cover her mouth as she coughs. After a few moments, her coughing fit subsides leaving Mrs. Hernandez panting.

  She removes the wad of tissues from her mouth, a line of viscus fluid strings from it to her lips. As I watch the string of saliva split I feel my stomach roil in revulsion and vomit threatens to ruin the quiz before me.

  From the sounds of the students around me, I’m not the only one revulsed by the sight. Yet none of them say a word about it. If anything someone coughs in solidarity with the teacher.

  “Sorry class. I must be catching something.” She says.

  She maneuvers to the back of her desk and opens a drawer. A moment later she dons a mask and returns to where she was before the coughing fit.

  “Where was I?” She asks.

  “You were asking us what the answer to the first question is. It’s thirty.” Lilly says.

  “That’s correct. Who wants to read the next question?”

  Another student raises their hand and so the pattern continues as we go through the quiz. As we proceed I’m forced to mark a few questions as wrong on the test before me. Part of me feels guilty for being the one to mark the page in red, but really it was an easy set of reading. The student should have been able to get these questions right.

  As time goes on I feel something grow in my mind. A sort of buzzing feeling that makes my brain feel like it’s being mildly electrocuted. However, it’s not painful more like someone placed TV static where my thoughts should be.

  As I ruminate on this strange sensation I feel something else begin to grow. The floor beneath me begins to vibrate as if someone is driving a large and heavy construction truck by this side of the school. But instead of leaving as quickly as it came it only grows. Quickly it evolves into a rumble that then rises to a world-ending shake.

  “Get under your desks!” Mrs. Hernandez yells over the commotion of the earthquake.

  I quickly slide from my seat and find myself hunched underneath the desk. My eyes find Abby under her desk. She turns to me and our eyes meet. Fear floods the blue of her eyes as the shaking only intensifies.

  Someone screams as the ceiling begins to fall in. The clock on the wall is thrown from its hook. A picture of Mrs. Hernandez getting her college degree is sent flying and crashing into the ground.

  A sound louder than anything I’ve ever heard blankets my consciousness. Pushing everything else out. It’s followed by a light so bright that in the moment it hit my eyes my brain explodes with pain. Even closing my eyes doesn’t let me escape the blinding light.

  Then the world becomes fire. Heat unlike any I’ve ever felt washes over me in waves. Every single atom of my body is attacked by this heat. Burning me to my very core. Consuming my being.

  Then the heat fades, taking with it the blinding light. Slowly I open my eyes, fully expecting to be blind or worse, in an otherworldly realm described in religious texts.

  My eyes flutter open, blinking floating specks of light from my vision. Except the floating lights don’t dissipate. If anything they grow more numerous and congregate together to form a floating blue box with words resting in it.