What Lies Ahead

Chapter 1: Awoken

Wearily, my heavy eyelids fluttered open, and the white noise and throbbing which filled my ears faded away. I winced and rolled over onto my back as a sharp excruciating pain filled my whole head. I opened my eyes to look at the ceiling, but my vision was a blur. Looking around in spite of my blindness , I sat up and the pain in my head increased. Reaching up to touch my temple, a warm thin, liquid covered the tips of my index and pointer fingers. The substance then began slowly rolling down the side of my face, dripping onto my jean shorts without my notice. I squinted at my fingers to see them stained in blood .
Panic set over me. My hands reached and spread across the cold tile floor, and I scrambled on my hands and knees, feeling for my glasses. I grabbed my glasses where my head had been set earlier, and quickly put them on. Next to where I previously laid, were a few more trickles of blood. I stood quickly, which made me feel all the more light headed. My dirty white converse sneakers squeaked on the floor. With my vision intact once more, I widened my sore eyes and scanned the room where I remained. I was in Mr. Kelley's 12th grade English classroom, but not the classroom I remembered. Miscellaneous papers and other school supplies had been scattered about the floor. Desks and chairs lay overturned, and the telephone mounted on the wall next to the door was hanging from its receiver. Thankfully, the door was closed, but I couldn't imagine whatever the cause of this was could be stopped by a door, otherwise I wouldn't be left alone in this mess of a classroom. I felt around my pockets for my phone, and pulled it out of my back pocket. Notifications indicating missed calls filled my home screen. I tried to return one to my mother, but it wouldn't go through. My battery life climbed down to almost empty within minuets of me frantically trying to put my phone to use. After one too many failed attempts at contact, I slid my phone back into my pocket. My back pack sat a few yards ahead of me on one of the few desks that remained standing.
Realizing whatever situation I was in at the moment couldn't be good, my adrenaline began to pump. I opened my bag and dumped its contents onto the desk. Two bottles of water, an apple, a granola bar, some pens, my binder, my wallet and house keys, and two maxi pads could be founds inside. I tossed the binder and put most of the remaining contents back in the bag. Now on the desk in front of me remained a half full bottle of water, and a maxi pad. Feeling rather hot, I pulled my cut-off baseball tee off, and tied it around my waist. The black tank top I wore under neath the tee was drenched in sweat. The heat of the hot Georgia sun baked through the classroom windows, making me feel as if I were inside an oven. My head injury still dripped. I took a gulp of the water, then tore open the maxi pad. Dousing the pad with the remainder of the water, I used it to clean the small trail of blood from my cheek, then pressed the pad onto the wound the began at the edge of my hairline, above my right brow. It helped my bleeding slow a bit, but I knew I'd need a permanent fix soon, or I could wind up on the floor again, maybe next time for good.
Finding nothing of use on the floor or around the desks, I sat in the teachers chair and began scrambling through his desk drawers. I found some scissors, a multi tool, and some aspirin. Immediately I took three aspirin, and tucked the bottle and the multi tool into my bag, and kept the scissors at my side. They were the closest thing to defense that I had. Unknowing what lies ahead of that door, I was already uneasy with taking my chances. I used some scotch tape at the corner of Mr.Kelley's desk to fix a temporary bandage with the maxi pad to dress my wound. Slinging my black Jansport backpack over my shoulder, I started toward the window. Suddenly I could hear distant calls of both man and woman, echoing from our in the hall.
Though they were too far away to make out, it didn't sound so good. Sweat tricked down my face as I turned toward the door. I gripped the scissors so tight it hurt my hand. My head continued to throb, and my knees began to shake. I knew that now was the time to get moving. Whoever was out there sounded desperate. The school was a big place but I'd been going there all my life. With it being a school that taught grades k-12, there was no telling who could remain inside, teachers, students, distraught kids younger than I. I knew it was time to be brave. With the scissors in my right hand I grabbed the door handle with my left. Before opening the door I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the door's dirty glass pane. I looked scared, but panic turned to adrenaline and a numbing sense of responsibility to help whoever remained in the school, and yelled yearning for a response. They, like me, were scared and confused. I needed to get out but I felt myself become weaker from the loss of blood. After all, maybe I needed these people more than they needed me. With that, I turned the cold metal door handle, took one last look at my English classroom behind me, and started through the door, into the hallway.