Late for Class

1- First Bell

First, there was darkness. Nothing. There was no life or death. Then, we learned. We sat in the shadows and discovered how to die. We watched our friends fade as blood poured from their noses. We watched in silence. We watched in fear. Then, we taught. We stood behind lightbulbs and sung about how to live. We watched our friends glow as tears poured from their eyes. We have always been there, and we will continue to be there until the end.

...

Somewhere, a boy wakes up. Not a very impressive action on paper, barely noteworthy, barely worth anything. The point, however, is that he was once asleep, and now he is awake. He didn't dream. Dreams are not in the curriculum. Not today. He knows he is falling behind again. He knows father will have something to say about that. He's not sure if he cares anymore. Lessons are unappealing. He'd rather take the anger, the beatings, the punishment, than be subjected to another mindless lesson. He loves Harry, whom he lovingly nicknamed 'Red Guy' when he was a small boy (well, a smaller boy than he is today), he really does love him, but his voice..god...his voice. It's emotionless. Completely monotonous. He can't take it anymore. He sighs, finally trudging through his monotonous morning routine, to the kitchen to have a monotonous breakfast, to have a monotonous lesson.
...
or so he thought.

He knows something is wrong as soon as he enters the kitchen. The familiar glow of the kitchen seems brighter. Someone else is here. Not Harry or Robin. Not even father. There are cameras here now. The boy hates cameras. They remind him of...something. Something...bad? No, not quite bad. Just...worse. Harry and Robin enter. Robin seems surprised. Harry is unfazed.
"Harry. What's going on?" Robin asks, almost sounding concerned.
Harry just grunts and starts making coffee.
"Manny, I'm making you eggs again, okay?" Robin starts the stove, unaware of what's to come.

...

Somewhere, offscreen, the one known by many names waits. They are silently preparing, running their fingers through their long, colorful hair. There is another presence in the room with them. A taller presence. He is reminding them that they are expected, and expected soon. They wave him off, much to his dismay. He goes on for a minute or two more, before they wink at him and get up, effectively shutting him up. They burst through the kitchen door, their predetermined lesson plan down by heart.

They turn their attention to the residents, two of the three looking shocked, pale as ghosts. The third seemed unbothered. They flash their biggest smile and produce their namesake, a sketchbook, from their pocket.
"What's your favorite idea?"

The lesson starts out okay. Manny appears to be enjoying himself for a change. Harry occasionally throws out an answer or two to get Manny to interact more. The lesson is taught through song. The new teacher, Sketchbook, or just Sketch, is all the right things. They talk about their hair, clouds, paint, they're amazing! Even though they punish Manny when he gets 'too far ahead', telling him he 'needs to slow down'. Despite this, they keep a friendly and light atmosphere. Right up until...

"Come on guys, let's get creative!"
The scene shifts. It's familiar, like something out of a dream. No, not a dream. We still haven't learned dreams. It's a sequence. Something takes over. A primal, long tucked away urge. Suddenly, nothing is real. The boy feels taller. Stranger. He's dancing. When did he start dancing? And he's hungry. Oh how hungry is he. He craves...something. He blinks and suddenly he's tearing, ripping, peeling, the glitter cascading down as Sketch watches from their perch on the refrigerator. Robin holds a knife, no, a cake server. Something is wrong with the cake. It smells bad. It's red. Something's wrong. Sketch just watches. Always watches. They're smiling now. Have they always been smiling like that?
...
It's raining. The rain is the key. They can stop this. Sketch can stop this. They just have to listen to the rain. Rain whispers things. Creative things. Not green though. Green isn't creative. Sketch always loved to draw. It's how they got their name. It actually wasn't their suggestion. It was someone else's, but we don't get to meet him until...uh...some other time. Sketch wasn't always this way. They loved kids, loved to teach. Their...methods...were questioned often. Then they met Roy. He offered them a job. Now they were here. Shedding old labels. Promising they would never answer to Paige again. The rain snapped them out of their thoughts. This has gotten out of hand. The cake...it's full of gore. There's something ripped open on the tile. The heart is covered in glitter. They sigh. Failed again. They hop down from the fridge, though the three 'students' didn't notice. They made their way to the door, scribbling something on a page in their sketchbook. They plaster that large, too-cheery smile on again. "Now let's all agree, to never be creative again!" They shut the door behind them, after tacking the page to the door. On it is a single red F. Failed.
...
Sketch is lamenting to the same guy that gave them their name. Once again, it is not his time. We haven't learned about time yet. Soon.
...
Manny prepares himself for bed. His emotions are conflicting, fighting, swirling. The lesson was fun. Better. A change. But...the ripping...the tearing...the blood...the oil paint...all over something he had created...that teacher...oh god. He quickly crouched in front of the toilet just in time for all of that 'cake' to come back up, bloody red chunks mixing with the pure blue of the toilet paper. It's disgusting. It's all over his chin, the front of his pajamas. He cleans himself up, not wanting to bother Robin or Harry, and crawls into bed. He still hasn't learned dreams, so sleep comes easy. He now knows how to be creative...but at what cost...?

Everything has a price...

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Author's Note:

Heyyyyy fuckers! This is the first ever dhmis story I've written. I wrote this whole thing out of pure fucking spite because guess what? Sketchbook is not a girl! It's literally fucking canon that Sketch is nonbinary (technically paper gender but yknow nb) and also their name is not Paige, it's Sketchbook, or Notepad. Get your facts straight.