Chapter 3 [Polishing]

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Being reminded of how fragile you are is truly the worst feeling of all. To me, the killer was hiding behind every bush and in every crevice. The feeling of helplessness, that if someone like him cornered you, the probability of survival will be minute. I could die. We like to think of ourselves as immortal, but any of us could die at any second and the idea of that would put anyone on edge.

I was thinking about the handprint all day at school. Maybe one of the killer's victims escaped? Perhaps it was the murderer himself? Or it could be completely unrelated to everything. It feels like my life has gone down the drain ever since that event happened and it's only the first day. I was constantly in a sweat throughout the day. Knowing that I should at least try to get over it, I made sure that I tried my best in all lessons to keep my mind off of the incident.

"Today, we are doing argumentative essays,"the teacher declared, today may be my lucky day, "Our topic is: Should murderers get the death penalty in this country? Juliet, you start."

My breath hitched and my vision began to bend.   Why was this so sudden? I shouldn't be reacting like this because I should be strong, right? It was too hot in that room, too cramped. The images of the killer reinfected my brain and this time, they had an intent to kill. My eyes darted across the room as I began to panic.

Not safe.

Nothing was sacred.

I looked around the classroom. Everyone looked so scared. Maybe this is what it's like to be a killer? The teacher took a few steps towards me.

"Juliet, are you feeling well?"

Why do they always ask questions they already know the answer to?

Not okay.

I'm not okay.

Feeling my head spin almost painfully, I staggered a little.

The teacher held out a hand.

I collapsed.

My head slammed on the edge of a desk and before I knew it, I was in the nurse's office with an icepack on my forehead. It was too cold. I didn't like it at all. It stung.

The lights, they were too bright. I sat up, clutching the icepack to my forehead. Groaning, I looked around. White, just white dim, colours.

Plywood shelves stacked with medical supplies with a layer of dust on them on one side and cupboards with epipens and epilepsy medication. Nothing there resembled cleanliness, yet had a sense of propriety. Everything was where it was supposed to be, but no real effort had been put in to make it a calm and collected environment. There was one sad teddy in the corner of the room, trapped in a little box. I felt bad for it.

"How are you feeling?"asked the nurse with an artificial smile.

"I'm fine, I've just been through a lot."I gritted my teeth. Even though I hate that guy, I made a promise that I intend to keep for my own sake. Besides, who would believe me? It would make a good story one day, I guess.

"Maybe you should take the rest of the day off. You have three free periods and you're only missing French."

Awe, I liked my French teacher; she was really funny. Even though the course was difficult, she still made everyone roar with laughter.

Of course, I agreed with the nurse.

It was only after I had already signed out, said farewell to my teacher and was halfway down the road, that I realised that I would have to walk home with a killer on the loose. I moved a little faster.

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