Son of A Predator (On Hold)

The Portrait

The group exited the classroom in a hurried frenzie, the first note still in Aurora's hand. They ran across the hallway, the whispers and chuckles urging them to run, run, run.
When they reached the door, Oliver quickly opened it and ran inside, followed by the rest of the group.

Then the voices stopped, everything went silent. Their bodies stiffened as they heard something shifting in the room. The sound came from the back of the classroom. Then, the noise stopped altogether, as if the world had muted itself.

"Tick-Tock. Tick-Tock," more soft giggles.

Adam's face was pale and his palms sweaty. He didn't know what was real and what was not anymore. He hoped, prayed, that this was just a nightmare. It all felt so surreal, as if they weren't on Earth anymore. Atmosphere heavy, time slow and all these foreign places were almost too much for him to take. Almost.

"It's okay. We're okay," Sarah breathed. This didn't sound convincing, not at all, but it was the only thing keeping them grounded, keeping them sane.

They began taking in their surroundings. This classroom was incredibly different from the other one. Three long tables were placed in the middle of the room, dull paint stains decorated every surface and paintbrushes laid scattered and abandoned by their previous owners.

"The art classroom," Brooke spoke up this time, looking around with bright, green eyes.

Everyone lifted their gazes and took in their surroundings. Just like the previous classroom, dust coated every surface possible, but this was were the similarities ended.

The started to walk around, taking in every detail with their eyes. It seemed as if this classroom used to be a rainbow of colours, now faded after many years.

But outside the window, in the distance, a pair of dark and hungry eyes watched the group of teenagers, claws shaking in anticipation, "We'll meet soon, don't you worry," the creature whispered, before disappearing slowly into the shadows.

Back in the classroom, a portrait of a young boy sleeping was hang on the left wall. With eyes closed, his features looked soft and innocent. Brooke looked at the painting, awestruck. She looked past the rough edges, the slight chip in the paint and the layers of dust. She saw into the painting, beauty and innocence radiating off of the boy. She stared a bit longer before turning and looking around the rest of the class.

Connor was looking at the tables.

Run.

The word was scratched onto the desks. Suddenly, his stomach felt heavy, he felt sick. He closed his eyes and took in deep breaths, calming the turmoil in his stomach.
Did the students write this?

Sarah and Aurora whispered among themselves in the corner, looking around once in a while. Paranoia constantly reminding them where they were, why and how.

Adam was walking around aimlessly, exhausted. He looked at the drawings without really seeing anything. The previous events had surely taken a toll on him.

Brooke was walking around, warm feeling in her chest. Thing is, Brooke loved art and she was an artist herself but much too humble to admit it. Seeing this room, old and abandoned yet so full of character, was a masterpiece. Well, at least in her eyes.
She then had the sudden urge to look at the young boy's face. Something about this painting made Brooke feel at ease.