Venom (Completed) ✔

The Dream

Turning around, I see the stranger saying something to Mr. Curtee. Something I can't hear from this position. But whatever it is that is happening right now, it doesn't feel good. Somehow the vibe has some dark, menacing anticipation to it.

The short intervals between them, like right now, are making my hands tremble up and down the table of nervousness. Again another few agonizing minutes have gone by, when suddenly Mr. Curtee ambles over to the cabinet next to the door, seeming to be looking for something. This was exactly a moment where the prying eyes of my classmates should be looking just as expectantly as I am. Yet, no one does, confirming my thoughts that this must be a hallucination.

He grabs something which is immediately hidden behind his body, leaving me looking at his back. My fingertips feel uncomfortably sweaty and I clench them to fists, rubbing my fingertips to my palms and immediately spreading them to catch the fresh air again. At the moment he turns slightly to the right, I see him aiming a knife at his stomach, ready to stab himself. I widen my eyes, trying to get up there and stop him, but my body rejects, being numbed of fear, petrified. There's nothing I can do but to watch. My stomach flips when he drives a knife through his stomach as I already predicted as if he was hypnotized to do so. I close my eyes tight, for this is the only thing I can do. Yet I hear the sufferable last short exhales of labored breaths, making the hair on the back of my neck bristle. The sound of incessant stabbing settles in my brain, hearing it vaguely reverberated in my mind. It's filling me with anxiousness. Why would he do this? I know him as a nice, modest teacher who really wanted to work for his money to teach as good as possible, which obviously didn't work out the way he wanted to. Now, when I open my eyes, I see the good-old teacher, cramped on the ground, gasping for air. Narrowing my eyes, my mind clouds in panic.

Is he... is he dead?

I get into a flat panic and want to shove the chair away, fleeing from this thorny situation. But I can't. Somehow every muscle in my body isn't under my control anymore, it's like someone else took over.

A flashback of me, looking at the cramped - still alive - Mr. Curtee rushes in. The eye contact we've made, right before he died was intense... I could see and feel the agony in his eyes. He didn't want this...

My body being heated up of anxiousness, I look at him lying in a puddle of his own blood. Questions start to invade my brain and I have no control over them.

Why is this just-barged-in guy just standing there, watching him die, acting normal in this clearly abnormal situation like nothing happened? And why is everyone just doing their thing? Have I gone completely out of my mind?

But these questions will probably never get their answer, and it makes me feel completely powerless.

Out of desperation I try to make eye-contact with the guy, who is standing next to Mr. Curtee, smug grinned. But I regret my attempt the moment his eyes flick my way. His emerald-diamond eyes, blazing through mine. I feel my heart furiously pounding in my chest and neck, my temperature becoming warmer and warmer the longer we make eye-contact. Wretched, ominous feelings are leaving me screaming inside. A shiver rushes down my spine, sending me warning alarms to get out of here as fast as possible. But then again, I can't. I can't even look away, even though I want to, - no - I need to. It feels like my sight is fused with his, making me feel even more powerless than I already felt.

Then suddenly his eyes green-blue eyes become totally black, his pupils and iris's even more than his scleras. I widen my eyes and feel my airway narrowing in sheer panic. Breathing heavily, I notice he cuts off the eye contact and looks down at the dead Mr. Curtee; impassively.

I can't understand... How can he be so calm about this? And why can't I do anything else but reluctantly fixating at this guy?

Suddenly he looks up to me again making a crooked, satisfied smile, still having those dreadful dark and mysterious emanating eyes. It's as if I'm looking at a serial killer which is ready to tear me to pieces.