Oliver’s mind was absorbed in the conversation with Alissa, the playful banter between them a momentary respite from the troubles he often experienced. The chatter around the room was just background noise, distant and inconsequential. But then, there it was, a voice piercing through the haze, abruptly ending their conversation. “Guys, you won’t believe it… Mr.Albert… he’s on the floor… he’s not moving”
At first, his brain struggled to process the sentence. His initial reaction was a cross of confusion and doubt. A twisted joke? Defective sense of dark humor? He couldn’t help but slightly chuckle, thinking it was a lousy place prank, something all new detainees experience. But then, as if practiced, Fernanda’s voice cut through the room, carrying a weight that shifted the atmosphere entirely. “I think he’s dead.” Her words hit Oliver like a punch to the kidney, and suddenly, the reality of the situation crashed over him like a tidal wave. The playful mood was shattered, replaced by pure trauma.
His breath caught in his throat, his heart on the verged of coming out of his chest, he felt like the room was closing in on him. The vivid images of his past, the ones he thought he pushed to the deepest corners of his mind, suddenly surged forward. Goosebumps rosed on his skin, he could feel the suffocating heat of the flames that had taken everything from him, the smell of smoke, the searing pain that had etched itself into his very being.
Oliver’s fingers instinctively clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to hold himself. The room spun around him, and he grasped the edge of a nearby desk, his fingers digging into the wood, blood-soaked. His gaze involuntarily looked for a way out, the nearest window, the nearest exit. He blinked rapidly, trying to hold himself together, to not jump out the window, to deny Mr. Albert’s death. He wished he could have a normal day without Trouble inMayday.
But reality held him captive (funny), and as the voices of his classmates seemed to be getting further away, he realize he was being left behind. They were going back to the body? Back to the crime scene? Oliver didn’t want to be alone, not like last time so he followed.
The hallway seemed strangely empty, a stark contrast to the usual bustling school environment. To be fair, it was Saturday, and the detention group appeared to be the only ones there. The scene before him was something out of a nightmare. A teacher lay on the ground, lifeless and still. A complete contrast to Mr. Albert’s normal personality. But what shocked Oliver, even more, was the knife, its ominous presence near the teacher’s chest sending waves of horror through Oliver. His stomach churned, and a cold sweat formed on his brow. This wasn’t just a scene from a crime book; reality was unfolding before his eyes.
Oliver’s eyes swept over the area, and he noticed Fernanda and Willow nearby. His mind connected the dots, their earlier absence now a hunting detail. The suspicion of foul play crept into his thoughts, and his pulse quickened. The realization hit him like a brick. A dead teacher, a murder weapon, and two suspects. What the hell went wrong?
Alissa’s voice rang out, accusations and disbelief lacing her words. His attention quickly left Mr.Albert snapping to Alissa, his heart racing as he listened to her accusations against the two girls. He struggled to make sense of the chaos, his mind a whirlwind of disbelief. The weight of the situation pressed down on him, the lighter in his pocket no longer able to comfort Oliver.
Instead, he reached for his phone, his fingers searching his other pocket, only to be met with empty fabric. A hollow realization struck him-- he had no way to contact his mom, to inform her of the very actions going on in her school. He was alone in this, surrounded by death and killers. As Reece’s present cut through the tension, Oliver’s gaze met Hazel’s, a silent exchange of shared disbelief and anxiety. They were trapped here, their worlds cooling in the face of this tragedy. The hallway seemed to go on endlessly, the walls echoing accusations and fear.
His breath shaky, barely noticeable between the others yells, “Hazel, how could this happen…? I mean, could it be Fernanda and Willow?” The question trembled as much as Oliver did, hoping to find some answers amid confusion.
@Mouschi (Hazel Apporached)
So much is happening help!
