Panic! In the girls bathroom.

Class Dismissed

How did you talk to the kid who'd just lost their father?

Did you say 'I'm sorry' or 'I'm here for you'. But no, you didn't, because the truth was, you wanted as little to do with the murder as much as you wanted to solve it. Which wasn't very much.

People stared. Their smiles faded when they saw me, and they looked like the didn't know wether to hug me or to ignore me. Hands extended, but never quite reaching. Half turned away, but still wanting a peek.

I kept my head down, walking silently through the hallways until I reached my locker. As I fumbled with the lock Effnay, the school bitch, and her bitch gang- The Automatons- circled me.

"Hey, Johnson." Effnay mumbled. Despite her weird name, she still came out on top of everyone in the popularity ladder. We called Effnay's group 'The Automatons' cause they performed like one. Looked like a perfect human, acted like a robot. All controlled by the same girl.

"I'm not in the mood Effy." My protests did nothing, The Automatons grouped closer.

"I just wa-." Effy began. Then I kicked her in the knees, knocking her to the ground, and sat on top of her, pinning down her arms and legs.

"I'm. Not. In. The. Mood."

"I-I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I understand how your feeling."

I released Effy, pushed past the growing crowd and rushed to the girls bathroom, where pathetic girls spent their pathetic lives crying about pathetic things before they grew some balls and dealt with it.

Running into the most sanitised stall I could find, I slammed the door shut and sat down to cry. It smelled like urine in here. And... Something coppery, metallic. Blood? I wiped my face free of tears and walked out the stall door.

Nothing. It was all normal. I was just over-reacting. Toilet paper wadded into balls were scattered along the roof, obviously the work of year sevens. God they were annoying. "I'm a twelvie- deal with it"

Tampon and 'sanitary napkins' bins overflowed with unmentionables, so I let my gaze travel to the sink, which had water everywhere. Like, every-where. Apparently someone loved themself a little too much, because lipstick in the shape of perfect pouts were stuck to the glass.

I looked to the floor, which had makeup and more toilet paper strewn across it, and a body slumped against the wall and- a body.

My eyes widened. The body was a female (I think) and her skin was pale, so pale that I was almost convinced she was a ghost. Applying cosmetics was evidently not one of her talents, which was displayed by the ragged scars of plum lipstick, all up the left side of her face.

Mascara stretched out into mutant wings, but makeup version. Foundation was splotched here and there, and the colours were never the same, let alone match her own face. A frown appeared on my face. This was just wrong. Who did she think she was- the Joker?

Blood gushed from a wound in her head, and another from her thigh. It trickled depressingly slow from her mouth as well, and I noticed that she only had one shoe on, not two. A snake leather heel and been carelessly shoved onto a stocking bearing foot, which did not match the white blazer and red tartan skirt.

I found the source of the makeup, a pink and white spotted bag, no label in particular to recognise. But it was bulging full of makeup. Mabellene, Thin Lizzy, Revlon. More. I crept forwards and, without making any contact what-so-ever with the body, possesd the makeup bag. As if you wouldn't. Free makeup!

My frown only increased, eyes widening wider then the moon, mouth in full omg-a-dead-person- mode now. I recognised that tangled mess of blonde hair, the stern yet mysterious leer those stormy grey eyes cast, now forever staring into a black abyss.

It was my homeroom teacher, Miss Faulon. And that was when I screamed.