Son of A Predator (On Hold)

Scars

They left the music room, footsteps echoing as an eerie silence fell upon them.
The whole scene inside the music room reached deep into all of them and forced out the glooming feelings they'd all been trying to avoid.
People have died in this place, and from the looks of it, no death that ever took place here seemed to be pleasant.

Not that death itself was pleasant in the first place.

With shoulders slumped and a less than enthusiastic moving pace, they approached the next door. Room 660 was just across the hall, but it seems as if decades passed before they reached the door knob.

Nobody cared what lurked inside the classrooms, it wasn't important anymore. Nothing was.
Fear and darkness was gnawing at their ankles, the environment surrounding them was dark and gloomy, just like their own thoughts.
All hope and optimism was gone, it had slowly deteriorated away until it was nothing more than a couple of pebbles on the bottom of an abandoned well.

Tony grabbed the door knob brusquely, not noticing his temper as he was consumed by dark thoughts of Aurora, and where she could possibly be or worse, what could be happening to her. I thought she'd be stronger than that, he thought to himself, biting his lip and trying to keep his thoughts at bay. He shook his head as he twisted the knob, dismissing any other thoughts from further haunting his mind.

Inside the room was nothing out of the ordinary. Well, except the splintered desks, the dust coating their surfaces and the eerie silence that blanketed every room in the building. This was normal for the small group of teenagers by now, so they paid little to no attention to it all. They dispersed into the room, four heads hang low, too distracted by their own thoughts to even bother to look around, and two alarmed heads staring around, scrutinizing the room with calculating eyes.

Sarah glanced at Connor from the corner of her eye, watching him as he ran his hands over a laminated poster describing different nouns and verbs. Ew, literature, she thought. She'd never been a fan of languages, or English, seeing as she was barely passing the subject herself. She found no interest in it and didn't understand its cause.

For Connor though, words and stories had another completely different meaning. To him, they were a person's way of making their thoughts real. For someone to be able to describe and create something that began as just a simple thought, was mind-blowing.
But only to him.
He doubted anyone else understood his judgement towards literature, but that's okay.

Brooke looked around the room, not really noticing anything.
"Just another empty room. There's nothing worthy of our time in here, we should just leave."

No one responded, all of them too consumed by their own thoughts to pay Brooke any attention. Brooke huffed and pulled a chair out, its metal legs screeching against the tiles as she pulled it back completely, plopping herself down on the chair and crossing her arms.

Again, no one paid any attention to her.

Due to everyone's lack of concentration, nobody noticed the door close or the lights above them flicker. Connor seemed slightly aware of it, but gave it no second thought.
That is, until the lights switched off, swallowing them into complete darkness.

They all looked up simultaneously, all becoming aware of what was happening around them, when suddenly the intercom switched on.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" A low, sultry voice spoke. It sounded one of a woman, one who couldn't be too old since her words were spoken clearly and smoothly.