Finding a Reason - Chapter 1

"Maia Willis! I would appreciate it if you kept you head out of your 'petrifying' text book and focus on the board, please?" Miss looked at me through her green spectacles, bringing out the icy lilac that stared right at me, more like through me. To teach, that's what that colour meant, it was perfect for her. Miss Swinson had slightly yellow hair, a shop-bought dye turned sour, that hung around her shoulders almost coated in grease; like the sugar coated feeling after swallowing cough syrup. Her green dress sucked her body into a rigid stance, stopping just below the knees. Unfortunately, this gave her the walk of a penguin urgently needing a lavatory. Her green stilettos had lilac spikes surrounding them, the moment she wore them to school, the nickname Miss Dragon was born. Oh how I miss calling her that, once the principal found the name written on her whiteboard, she had a month of detention given for every class Miss Swinson took.

I had been reading our Wildlife textbook, a book mostly about trees and how they grow. Miss Swinson had so many interests. I turned the page to find it black, swirling almost. For a second I thought it was trying to show me soil, but then I remembered last nights vision. He had come to find me again, but in school this time. I never saw his face, his eye colour. I guess they would be black, soulless. Black always meant soulless. Always. I had gasped, causing the class to swivel each and every different coloured eye onto me. Why did he always come to find me? What did he want? He'd been in my dreams for weeks now, it was always the same:

I was standing on top of the church, the wind whipping my auburn curls over my eyes. By the time I'd pushed it away he would be standing inches from my face. I would slam my hands into his chest and he'd stumble a little, the wind knocking his balance. He would take a shuddering, rattling breath and advance toward me, locking his solid fingers around my neck. I'd fight the losing battle until my throat was coarse and dry. It was always the same, we'd roll off the edge, endlessly falling toward the headstones. Our faces locked into a solid scream.

I would wake when I fell off my bed, heart racing and shaking, and my bedroom had hardly moved, except for one thing. At the exact moment, the door would fling open and slam, so loud it rattled the house like an earthquake, but I was the only one who felt it, heard it.