The leaves hadn't even turned brown before the first suicide of the year.
At St. Briar's University, the stakes are so high that at least one suicide is expected. In a world full of privilege and royalty, poison and snakes, students are expected to...
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'twisted reality, hopeless insanity
i told you i was okay, but i was lying
i was dancing with the devil, out of control
almost made it to heaven, it was closer than you know'
(demi lovato)
>>>
gianna
The house smells like smoke.
I walk up the steps of the basement, feet echoing on the cement up the stairs.
I hear faint violins floating under the door at the top of the steps, the glow of the light behind it washing over my face.
I expect the door to be locked, but it surprisingly isn't. When I twist the knob, the sound of violin notes and someone humming wash over me. The opening of the door reveals a kitchen, lit up by lamps, the oven baking something, smelling burnt.
I hear humming coming from around the corner, so I pass all the counters that are covered in piles of what looks like expired, moldy food. I wrinkle my nose at the rancid smell and turn away, entering the next room, in the direction of the humming.
The first thing I see is the blood. It's splattered on the walls, pooling on the wooden floor like a spilled can of paint. Some of it is decorating the bookshelves, some splashed across green and red burgundy couches. Some smeared even on the ceiling.
The blood doesn't scare me as much as it should; in fact, I don't feel anything at all as I search for a body, but surprisingly, there is no cadaver that has been bludgeoned to death anywhere.
My eyes fall on the source of the humming; a small teenage boy, sitting with perfect posture at the piano, his fingers pressing haunting keys on the board, along to his humming. I can't see his face, but he's wearing a gray vest and he has pale blonde hair spiked up.
His clothes are covered in blood too. And as I get closer, so are the keys to the piano.
I wait for him to notice me, but he doesn't. He keeps playing his haunting song, his eerie humming wafting in the air.
I take the time to glance around the room; it's dark, but the fire in the grate is roaring, cracking merrily. On the coffee table sits a board of chess, set up as if someone were getting ready to play.
I suddenly feel this urge to play. I've always been a pro at chess, since I was little. It's always been one of my many bragging points, being able to beat grown, seasoned men at the game.
