Experiment

The Whisperers

The next day.

The DWMA, although most who lay eyes on it consider it a grand architectural masterpiece, I think it's  bland. It's easy. If they are really trying to impress me with this building then they are failing miserably. The building is so simple and round. There is nothing complicated about it. And it is made in the image of Death himself, so it's not even an original design. I wonder if he is a good headmaster. He's already proven to be a terrible Death Lord, saving my useless, pitiful life just because I interest him. Admittedly that is something I would do. Hehe.

I climb the stairs, which takes longer than I had expected, since Spirit failed to mention that the stairs are about twelve thousand flights long. I reach the top of the ledge sweating, rubbing my forehead of the sleeve of my white pyjamas. There are a selection of uniforms available for the school, but I like wearing pyjamas. Thin material that rubs my skin gently and sends shivers up my spine. It just feels so good. My current favourite pyjamas are white and loose, and I'm wearing bare feet. My pyjama top is long sleeved and closed at the front with stitches with a thick black thread.

I hate my scars, but one thing I love is  the stitch marks they left behind. The stitches symbolise science, that some kind of experiment hands taken place and that cutting me up wasn't just a pointless exercise.  I love my stitches because of that, and take pride in decorating my room, clothes and all my belongings by painting them and sewing into them with curves and stitches, very similar to my own. I also like arrows, because they're inherently scientific - logic tableaus, code, metabolism notes.

I enter the school, and see the almost deserted corridors until a few corridors up, where the school is packed with students. The decor is traditional and the walls are made with old oak panels, polished and bleached to look light. The floors have black and white uniformed tiles on them.

"Oh my god look at his head...?"

"You think he did that to kill himself...?"

"He's only like ten. Must be real smart..."

"Why is he wearing pyjamas...?"

"Ew I can't look at him!"

I sit in class listening to the whispers all around me, from all the students dressed in their best clothes. All I can think about is all the stupid people around me, and how much I want to dissect them. Cut into those useless brains of theirs and see what makes them so undeniably idiotic. EAT students? More like EAT subjects. My EAT subjects. But I need a smart brain too to compare the differences between us and them. This looks like one of these fun times where I get to experiment on myself and my subjects and compare us. 

"I can hear you you know," I say in my monotone, not turning to look back at the whisperers behind me. The whisperers suddenly burst out laughing, no longer considerate of my non-existent feelings.

"He even sounds like a psychopath!" One laughs like a maniac.

This does make me turn around. When I do my heart pangs in my chest, and I fight to stop the angry tears pricking at my eyes. Spirit, the one person who bothers to talk to me, is sitting with The Whisperers, laughing and giggling at whatever joke they are now telling. I narrow my eyes, growling inwardly at the one person I had thought might even be my friend. But that's ridiculous. It's my fault for thinking that. It's my fault I'm so sad. I let my guard down. Spirit can never be my friend. He will only ever be my test subject. A test subject is all anyone can ever be to me.

Our teacher enters, a very boring man in boring clothes. So boring.

"Hello class," he speaks in  his droning voice. "We are learning about soul history. Please take notes. A strong soul swells within a sound mind and a..."