The Figure

Chapter I, The most stressful Wednesday of my life

I am going to die. I know this might sound strange, but it's true. I feel my strength slowly but surely failing me, and the screams surrounding me are dulling as the quiet peace of death wraps around me like a cloak. My taste buds scream from the iron taste of my blood, flames lick at my lungs from the inside. The ground comforts me like a soft, wet bed, but something still isn't right. I try to fight against my eyelids, as heavy as concrete, they must not close completely. I can't let them. My breathing becomes more frantic, and I start gulping down the cool air as if I had been choking for minutes. It's like a nail is being driven into the center of my forehead every second. I manage to open my eyes a sliver, but I can barely see anything. I just hear the shouting, the screaming, the suffering. I squint at something bright, and then everything goes silent. Have I died? No, no! Damn it, damn it, damn it! Who am I? Who was I? What happened? This isn't...

"Deniece!" Two strong arms grasp my shoulders and shake me gently, his voice raised slightly. My eyes snap open, and I find myself staring into the stern gaze of my brother, Ben.

"What? You said it was okay if I listened to music!" I snap, and he just rolls his eyes and stares at the headphones resting around my neck, then back at me.

"We've been here for about ten minutes, and you refused to move." It's my turn to roll my eyes at him.

"I didn't sleep well last night, I just closed my eyes for a bit!" I insist, and it's true. I had just dozed off the moment the car stopped in front of the school. "Besides, what are you going to do? Tell Dad?" I ask, batting my eyelashes at him. He just sighs and gestures towards the door.

"Just move, we're going to be late." He says sternly. If he's telling the truth and he really did spend ten minutes trying to wake me up, it proves two things. I'm a very deep sleeper, and he's terrible at waking people up.

"Right away, sir!" I grab my skateboard and throw my backpack over my right shoulder. My hand is already on the car door when I look back one last time with a grin. "So you're not giving me a ride home this afternoon, right? Because, well, Tonya..." My smile widens as his face turns a slight shade of red. He's been on three dates with the girl but is still afraid to admit his feelings to her. Yesterday, I overheard him in the kitchen talking to one of his friends about how he would finally man up today. Sometimes I feel like I'm calling a loser my brother.

"Out!" His voice is strong but also embarrassed, and his red face makes it all worth it. The girl must be an idiot if she doesn't like Ben. He might have a rather strange style similar to mine, with surprisingly curly chestnut brown hair which is even longer than mine, and a personality that can be a bit loud and irritating, but it could be much worse. Violet and I have already decided that if she breaks his heart, we'll call their family phone and repeatedly growl creepily into the receiver.

Getting out of his beat-up but beloved car, I hop on my skateboard and head towards the institution adored by some idiots but only kept open to torture us, which some people call school. I'm really late, so I ignore several rules as I skate down the relatively empty hallways, sighing heavily as the bell rings its irritating sound just as I fling open the gym door.

"Johnson, just in time." Mrs. Brown, the principal of Moonhill High School, says to me with a hint of frustration but also sternness. Her graying blonde hair is pulled into a tight bun, a weak attempt to hide her forehead wrinkles. "Get to your place, hurry!"

I obey immediately and push my way through the students standing in strict lines. Quiet giggles echo in the uncomfortably silent room, and I know I want to kick their owners until they stay down. Finally, I see what I've been looking for. Golden locks braided into two stunning plaits, huge ocean-blue eyes, and lips that curve into a small smile when she sees me. That's Violet for you, looking perfect even when we start the morning with a gloomy memorial. I quietly stand next to her and focus my gaze on the principal. My friend's eyes quickly scan my slightly messy, chin-length hair and bangs, which are everywhere except where they should be. Although I usually look like this, I don't understand why she's eyeing me. Mrs. Brown starts her speech, one we've heard a hundred times, commemorating another dead student.