Event Horizon

Chapter 5

She took her time with getting ready in the morning. Getting up early means you get to pay attention to all the little details, like whether her hair was brushed properly or not or if her jacket went together with her shoes.

She did her usual routine. Make her bed, brush her teeth, get dressed. Make food. Eat.

Bags were beginning to set below her eyes. Check her email. Grab her purse.

Check her email again. Most of the time she didn't receive anything other than useless shopping deals or spam, but she always double checked anyway.

There was a notification in her primary inbox. Spam doesn't go there.

It was an untitled message from a mother she knew. Liesel didn't talk to her students' parents much, but she still made an effort to memorize who they were.

"Hello, Ms. Fischer," the email read. "I hope this message finds you well."

Sally. Wasn't her daughter Felicity competing in the national design competition? (Surprising that it's still a thing.) Liesel could tell that her student inherited her mother's hardworking skills.

Felicity's dead.

Her mother found her hanging by a meter of rope. A chair, toppled over, laid by her feet, swaying left and right to the wind that an open window let through.

Her mother didn't understand. She didn't know if there was anything to understand in the first place; all she knows is that she'll never not hate herself for her ignorance. She thought her daughter was happy (maybe she was?), but the creaking in Felicity's bedroom floorboards whispered tales of her desolate mind.

Liesel still had the blizzard blue hair ribbon that Felicity gave her in the back of her drawer somewhere, which she would return to her mother later. No funeral was to be arranged. Those were too expensive.

Checked her email again. No new messages.

And yet, the day went on. Work was to be done.

The buses arrived at 9am. She'd take the one that rode to Main Street, then get off and take the one to Rosemary. Teachers could get away with arriving later in the day now, as the morning classes were mostly vacant. Full-day school was a scarcity.

The inside of the bus was stuffy and cramped. Liesel felt the sweat collect in the palms of her tired hands, clutching the handle of her leather messenger bag, its skin softened with age.

"You've never struggled once in your life," a young girl who seemed no older than 10 declared. "You'll never know what it's like to try." Her friend looked at her and said nothing, then returned to the book in her hands.

Liesel was silent throughout her morning commute. It was a Monday when the sky did not yet wake up; it was tossing and turning clouds upon its face and fog upon the lakes. She stepped off the bus, swamped fields squelched beneath her boots, leaving imprints as she walked.

And yet, the day went on. It was hard to speak about a side character's death, even harder to draw emotions out of your audience. Some friends sat, morose and grieving, while the other children copied their mannerisms. Regardless, class continued.

Today's topic was matter. Some of the children were shocked at the notion they were but atoms upon atoms, as they looked around to check if they themselves were real. Others weren't bothered. Nothing was ever created nor destroyed; to some it might have been comforting to know that the mass of their postmortem presence would be around forever. It is strange to think of people as bodies of animated quarks. It is even stranger to realize that each and every one of those bodies do have their own thoughts. But what on earth does a thought weigh? Nothing, thus it wasn't matter– it simply did not matter.

Sometimes a kid or two would visit Liesel during her downtime between her two classes. If they were quiet, she would reward them with candy to make sure they stayed quiet. If they were loud, she would occupy them with candy to shut them up. Many kids liked to drop by her room for the candy- a win-win situation, as they've built up a good name for her around the school.

And yet, the day went on.

Her afternoon class was a little bit slower. Things would have to be repeated a few times before anyone got the message; there was almost never enough time at the end to synthesize new knowledge. It didn't help that classes rarely started early- in particular, there was a dark-haired boy named Isaac who liked to enter a good ten minutes after everyone else had gotten seated. Today was stalled even further by her opening announcement and the panic/apathy that had to follow suit. (Oh god, Felicity's dead!) (...) (Thoughts and prayers. My heart goes out to her family.)

Liesel's trip back home went as always. Fatigue and exhaustion were beginning to set in as she moved towards the maple desk that sat in the spare room she'd given to Lucifer. On the desk was a dated model of a computer. Beside the computer was a cup of tea, gone cold.

She turned it on and began to formulate messages in her head. The chat program was taking a while longer to load, but yet, the day went on.