Shantrice from The East: The Anthology

RECOURSE: The Sequel to The Walk Home [Story No. 06]

I have awakened again and Zuri is gone. I knew they were removing her from the room, but where she has been hauled off to and what they are doing with her is troubling me. I distinctly remember the large feline man saying something about "Stratum 4" and the "Conditioning course". I don't know what that last part is, but the worrying has left me super anxious and manic.

I'm itching all over and it is killing me that I can't scratch myself right now. My sweating has resumed and refuses to cease, so my body is completely drenched in warm and sticky perspiration. This always happens when I'm faced with a variable situation. I do better when I'm dealing with constants, as they are readily determinant and immutable. I really fuckin' detest anything I can't control or predict, as all inclinations towards volatility just devour me whole. If I knew what to expect, I could be better prepared.

I mean, that's all anyone ever asks for in life, right? We just want to know what lies ahead. But alas, life wouldn't be life without the impetuous and unheralded. If everything was mapped out from the get-go, our existence would be extremely dull. Still, that doesn't stop me from yearning to have complete autonomy over what occurs.

Is it blasphemous that I desire to control my fate?

Is it weak of me to despise the reality of how insignificant we are in this vast universe?

Am I to just grin and bear it because those are the breaks?

Why do we have to accept that things are the way that they are?

Why can't we revolt against nature? Is it really that sacrosanct?

Sorry, I got a little carried away. I'm quite aware that my choice of words is markedly different, but this is what happens when I'm under duress. I believe I told you that already, but I can't recall due to the drugs pumped in my system. Regardless, this is me feeling the pressure of stress.

It pushes my brain into a mode that I have no idea what to call. All I know is that the true nerd inside me comes out in spades, shining like the sun on a treasure trove of gems. This is yet another one of those moments where I wish I had control over my powers because I would like to break free.

I have been struggling since I woke up, but to no avail. During such, I noticed that the strange pterodactyl-looking creature remains perched, continuing to gaze upon me with menace. I imagine that even though its beak is shut, it is salivating at the thought of tearing me apart. That kind of thought is nowhere near comforting for me.

One of my powers has activated on its own though and I'm now hearing footsteps heading this way. Heavy footsteps, but not in a marching manner. No, I surmise that this is their regular way of walking, I'm just unable to discern whether they are male or female. Whoever it is though, they aren't in a hurry, that's for sure.

The footsteps increase in volume as the individual draws near, along with a dry, squeaky noise and a slight rattling of objects. Probably keys. My best guess is this is a janitor, as that noise sounds a lot like the wheels on the carts ours use at school. I have dreaded that sound ever since I hid in the bathroom for three periods one week in March of 2018, a decision which reflected poorly on my academics that semester.

My father still isn't finished chewing me out over it.

The person is very close now. They've grabbed the doorknob and turned it, only to realize it is locked. No need to fret (for them anyway) for they have those keys close by. They fiddle with them nervously, as each key they try fails to work, until they get to the seventh or eighth key. I really don't know to be honest though, as I lost count at the second key, too anxious to pay it any mind. Anyway, I hear the mechanism inside of the door click, unlocking it. The door, perhaps in need of oil, squeaks extremely loud. A long, drawn out creaking to be precise, exactly like the door in a haunted house or some slasher flick. Finally, the individual walks in and I learn that my initial guess is correct: it is indeed a janitor. A male janitor for the record.