The Storm

17 3 22
                                    

Panic was running through my veins, and I started slamming my fists on the door, desperate to reach safety. Suddenly, I felt myself being shoved from the left, and I fell to the ground sprawled out several feet away. Looking back to the door, I saw that Ms. Stents had an outstretched hand in my direction.

She pushed me? After locking us both out of the shelter? What the FRICK!? "What are you doing?!" She ignored my screamed question, instead walking forwards with a sneer on her face.

"I had heard rumors that the Marked were keeping tabs on you, so I decided to check you out firsthand with my own eyes. And what did I see? A lonely boy, too caught up trying to stay out of the spotlight to take note of anything going on around him. Honestly, do you think someone like me would be a teacher?"

Looking up at her in shock, I could only think one thing. She's insane. After I realized that, a second thought came to me. And we're going to die out here. Already, I could hear the building groaning with the force of the wind. It wouldn't be much longer until the tornado was here, and depending on how strong it was could mean life or death. Taking into my account my track record of bad luck, I had to assume that it wouldn't be good.

"Okay calm down, we can talk this out. Let's just go into the shelter, and we can have this discussion there. Okay?" I was desperately trying to think of some way to get to safety, but I wasn't sure if there was one. She had reached me by this point, and was standing over me with a sneer on her face.

Leaning down, she put her hands on my shoulders. "If you know about the Marked, and from what little I read about your dream, then you must be one of them. Which means, you have to die." Hearing these words come from my English teacher's mouth, I wasn't sure how to respond.

However, before I even had a chance to try, she wrapped her hands around my throat. Her grip was like a vice, and my back arched as I felt my throat being crushed. "Come on boy, fight back. I do enjoy the thrill of a hard earned kill." I couldn't respond, instead desperately trying to tear her hands off of my neck. The problem was, it felt almost like my hands were passing through thin air.

Struggling to look down, I saw that they really were passing through thin air! Her hands had dissolved into a bluish tint of smoke, suggesting the shape of hands instead of actual flesh and blood. The image of those faces outside the window flashed through my mind, and I looked at her with confusion and terror on my face.

"Ah, so you understand now, eh? I was beginning to have my doubts about you when you didn't seem to recognize what I was, but once I saw you staring out the window, absolute fear in your every fiber once you saw the other demonic wind spirits, I knew that it was you. You're the one that's supposed to 'save the world' and all that jazz!" Ms. Stents was laughing hysterically now, and my vision was beginning to become fuzzy.

I tried to croak out a plea for help, but nothing escaped my open mouth. She just smiled in homicidal delight, laughing at me. "Oh, that's rich! Their fabled hero, trying to call out for help! Come now, did you honestly think you were anything special?" I was still conscious enough to understand her words, and I looked at her in confusion.

"Oh, they didn't even tell you, did they? No wonder, who would want a loser like you?" She leaned down, now an inch from my face as she grinned at me. "I read about your history, you know. How you were viciously attacked by that boy, and had to receive therapy for a year afterwords. I know of your anti-social disorder, too. Your parents managed to hush it up so that the papers didn't get wind of it, but everyone in your classroom still remembers. They remember how weak and pathetic you were, not even fighting back."

I could feel my eyes beginning to close, and my hands were no longer clawing at her own to try and release my throat for a quick breath of air. Hopelessness was beginning to set in, and with it, a cold certainty of death.

The MarkedWhere stories live. Discover now