Fever Dream

Infection

Excited chatters filled the classroom as the second bell rang loudly through the halls, signalling that class had begun on that warm summer's day.
Students were talking to one another, rustling through their backpacks, or even sneakily trying to eat a snack or play on their handhelds they smuggled in with them for when the day got boring.
Everyone was happy and full of energy, but all turned when the cobalt door swung open to reveal Mr Baldimore, or Mr Baldi for short. Almost like magic, the class quietened down to watch the teacher intently, ready for the day.

"Good morning class! Hope you all had a nice weekend. Now it's time for everyone's favourite subject! Math!" Mr Baldi spoke enthusiastically as the class murmured.
"Now then, let's start today with a pop quiz to get those brains working" he said, being met with groans of dismay and hushed protest. He simply smiled and grabbed the yardstick that was leaning against the side of his desk, turning around to write the problems on the board.
"Right then!" Baldi exclaimed happily, swishing the yardstick and making it collide with the board. "Everyone get out their You Can Think Pads and start solving these questions!"
The class did as requested and all got out their green-coloured mathematical devices, pressing the buttons and typing in answers on the screen. Some talked with others, from "what's the answer to number three?" to the downtrodden "aaaw" when the you-can-think pad shut off randomly.
Others just worked away in silence, and a select few were checking in their backpacks for things, playing with pencils, or doodling on scrap paper or of boredom.

Amidst the quiet workers was a student in the very front, sitting near the wall. Their head was bent over the screen, blankly staring before answering questions, their ink-stained fingers pressing the plastic buttons.
This student was usually the first person in the class, and kept themselves to themselves, if they could help it.
The "P" on the pocket of their comfy grey sweatshirt stood for their name, but they didn't tell anyone -apart from Mr Baldi and the Principal- so everyone else just called them 'Player' or 'Protagonist'. They also wore a tidy-looking black tie and a white shirt underneath their sweatshirt, and their brown-lace-up shoes usually had the laces trailing or tied tightly. Strangely, their eyes were also a grey colour, but they seemed to change, depending on the light levels, their hair hidden under a neat white headscarf.

While the class worked away, they felt a strange feeling begin to overwhelm them; what they thought was a mild headache from the school bus ride that morning had grown more pounding, making them groan softly and rub their forehead, though it didn't seem to help too much.
"Player? are you feeling ok?" Annabelle, or Playtime as people called her, asked softly. Her dark brown eyes were wide and doe-like, as she stared at Player in concern, her messy brown hair sticking up in feathery curls.
Player nodded, with an unconvincing smile to try and not make Playtime worry any more than she should be.
"I'm ok" they replied softly, Playtime giving them a sceptical pout, legs pedalling back and forth.
"Are you sure? you don't look or sound it" she reiterated, noticing her friend's hundred yard stare into nothingness.

Player, on the other hand, found themselves zoning in and out of reality, starting a bit as they saw a dark, twisted version of Playtime sitting at the table next to them.
She looked all distorted and bent out of shape, and they could swear that her eyes were black and marked out as if by a scratchy, half-sharpened pencil from the bottom of the pencil box.
They blinked, Playtime turning back to normal after that brief scare, though she seemed to be frowning more in concern.
"R-really, Playtime, I'm fine. I'm just...tired, that's all" they reassured her unconvincingly, going back to their work.
Playtime did to, though she had an inkling that her friend was hiding something from her.

CLACK!

"Times up, class! Put your pads down, I'll go through the right answers!" Mr Baldimore declared, standing tall beside the blackboard with a friendly smile, despite the class jumping at the loud noise coming from the two wooden objects colliding with one another.
Something was off about him, Player could feel it in their bones and in the pit of their stomach.
Come to think of it, that wasn't the only thing they were experiencing, as the class all put their Think Pads down on their desks.

Mr Baldimore's voice swam in and out of the student's hearing, their colour changing eyes a very dull grey, as if they were blind or dying.
Pixelated blots were in the corners of their vision.
Plus, was it getting hot in there, or was it just them?

A voice spoke to them, though it sounded as if they were underwater, until-

"Player!"
The bark of their nasally-voiced math teacher snapped Protagonist out of their very ill trance.
Before Mr Baldi could instruct them to pay attention, he saw the hazy look in the student's eyes, and noted the slightly pale green tinge to their skin.
Perplexed, the teacher wore a concerned frown, his yardstick resting at his side; in Player's vision however, the somewhat concerned and worried look had morphed into a glare that held only the most sinister of rage.

"Player? Are you feeling alright?" Baldi asked, his brown eyes full of worry and concern for the young student.
Player didn't respond, apart from a wavery mumble of "u-uhh...", a few beads of sweat rolling down the sides of their face. Hands shaking, they reached to undo a couple of their sweater buttons to let in the cold air.
They didn't like the looks that they were being given by the other students, their stomach turning.
Their heart beat inside their head, and they felt as if they were going to throw up any second.

Despite how weak and shaky they were feeling, Player scrambled up and darted out of the room, leaving the door swinging and the students whispering.
Mr Baldimore sighed softly, telling the class to talk amoungst themselves while he went to see where Player went, before something caught his eye.

Something with two handles.
Something full of notebooks.
Player's backpack.

Picking it up, Baldi walked out of the room, backpack in one hand and yardstick in the other, on the hunt for the ailed student.
He was worried for them, confused as to why they would run away.
Were they trying to find the nurses office? the restroom?
Had they seen something?
Knowing from experience, he knew how fevers would make people hallucinate if high enough, and the child did look as if they were being cooked alive by an invisible heater.

With pursed lips and a heavy heart, he strode on, the yardstick tapping against his palm to keep him in step, hoping that the student he was tailgating hadn't gotten themselves hurt.