I, psycho.

Chapter Three

-Rest assured, I fear not the darkness, instead, it fears me.

   They - the school authorities- had no concrete evidence that I was responsible for the fire, hell, even I had no real proof that I'd been the one who'd started the it.

  But then, I didn't need proof. I'd had a nightmare, that was all the explanation I needed.

Rubbing a hand over my face, I trudged wearily to class, my backpack weighing heavily on my back.
I wore a tank top and demote faded jean, my black, mourning coat was fashioned around me and my eyes were shaded by dark glasses. Note that it was not to shield my red rimmed, sleep deprived eyes, I simply fancied the small, jiggly, black diamond that hung from the sides and made a jiggling noise whenever I scrunched my face.

Reaching my class, I sank into my comfy chair, placed my forehead on the desk and prayed. Maybe if I wished with all my heart, I would be able to rewind time to just before I chosen to eat chicken burrito for breakfast instead of the normal oats and a mug of coffee.

My stomach had been performing strange stunts since then. Really, someone needed to tell the rioting organ that in was supposed to say inside, you know, and not splattered on the hallway of the academy.

Holding a hand to my stomach, I reluctantly sat up when my homeroom mates started filing into the room.

"Good morning, dearie" Cullen said, coming to lean on her desk, "I hope you were not one of the many affected by that bizarre occurrence yesterday"

Not bothering to tell him that I was the cause of that particular dilemma, in fact, at the rate at which my escapades were increasing, it was fair to say that I was bizarre occurrence in it's true embodiment, instead, I said, "I wasn't"

And I truly wasn't because by morning I had replaced my bed, magically of course, and was well on my way to forgetting that I had added the well deserved title of 'arsonist' to my pedigree.

Whether it was because of my unreceptive response or the how-does-my-well-being-affect-you look I was sporting but he took the hint and walked away without saying another word.

The day went downhill from then on. Not that uphill would have been any better considering my luck which was no luck at all.

The teacher asked me a funny questions about Hitler during class 111, I didn't know how I was supposed to analyze why a crazy man did a crazy thing when I didn't even know why I did my crazy things. Because, hey, to each man their crazy.
So, I stared at Mr Raynor Seth-Cunningham and he stared at me. He stared at me, I stared back. He stared at me some more and I narrowed my eyes at him. He looked away. I sat down.

  There was something to be said about communicating without the trouble of speaking.

I opted against French lessons, I had learnt that, along with Greek, Spanish, Arabic, Gaelic, Italic, Roman, and a bunch of other weird language thingies, in the hole.

The only mildly interesting part of my day was during Literary Discussion class, you know, the class where we discuss literature. Yes, that class that your choice of partner either makes it very interesting, slightly interesting or downright boring.

"Attention, attention, dear students" a plump woman, not beautiful, but not quite ugly either, said from the podium that was situated in front of the hall, "I am Mrs Caroline Lu-Maine, the supervisor in charge of this course. As you all know this course is not elective, and so is very necessary if one is interested in advancing unto the next class, I can readily assure you that no pardons will be given to miscreants who think they can flaunt the rules and get away with it.
"Anyone not present before yours truly will remain outside for the rest of the class, and mind you, magic is strictly prohibited in this hall, anybody caught going against this rule will be immediately expelled"