You walk into the toilet block. The end cubicle is locked. You look under the door for feet. There are none. You walk to the exit. You walk back in. The sign on the door says vacant. The door is still locked.
Someone flicks your hair from behind. You don't look at them. You know already. There is no one there. Look ahead. Always look ahead.
There are people, other people. Everyone knows. You never see them. They crawl out of the woodwork for special occasions. No one knows what the occasions are. It’s a normal day, but there are people everywhere. They swarm around you, poking and prodding. These are not people.
The sky is black. It's the middle of the day. Black. Black with birds. They swoop and grin. They are laughing at us. They are here for the bugs, people say. The bugs died out long ago.
She likes you, someone says. She always likes you. It's common knowledge. You just ignore her. Something feels off.
There are two people dating each other. It's the talk of the school. When you ask, they say “yeah, we've been going out for a few weeks now”. They've never gone out. They never leave school grounds.
Swirling gusts of fierce winds twist the trees in large circles. The windows rattle and curtains billow like sails.
The wind rushes through the tops of the trees. It blows down on you like something alive---something angry. Papers scatter everywhere, winding around you, twisting with the dirt and the dead. All is lost.
Leaves rain down in autumn colours. They pile in every corner. There is no escaping the leaves. They crunch as you walk, and they crunch when you don't.
Something grumbles from above. The sky is dark. The lights flicker impatiently.
A shower opens up, running down, water in the concrete, pooling, the screen of droplets sliding towards you, and the lake growing at your feet.
You cup your hands to catch the falling water. It flows enthusiastically over the edges of your makeshift bowl. It can't be contained. It drips down you in cold streams. The water always falls here, curtaining the spot off from the rest of the world. You are safe now. Safe from everything but the water. It slowly grows, wriggling and writhing towards you.
The rain brings people towards you. You don't trust anyone who is not in your group. They might not be real. You try not to anger them either, they may bite.
You are playing a non contact sport. Five people leave with thick black bruises. You thought sport was supposed to be fun. Someone will knock you over if you aren't careful. People don't care. Not in sport.
There is mud on the field. It rained months ago. People sit there anyway.
You stand watching an ibis. It slowly pecks at something indeterminate. You look away, it is gone.
A delicate flower grows in the place of rubbish. It appeared overnight.
Someone calls your name. They want help. Help with what, you wonder. It doesn't matter, you help them. As you sit back down, they call again. The cycle never ends
You raise a hand in the air. No one pays attention. You wave the hand. You are invisible. Why aren't you being helped? The hand above you is not attached. You don't know whose it is.
Something ticks from the ceiling. There is nothing, nothing but ticking. Consumed in the sound, you search desperately for its source. There isn't a clock in this room.
Roused from a deep sleep, you look around. You are surrounded by the dead. They are scattered across the room like shrapnel. One by one, they slowly awaken.
The bus is dark. It's always dark on the bus. What happened to the windows? They don't want us to see outside anymore. Or maybe, they don't want us to be seen.
You sit at your desk. Bugs swarm out from nowhere. The table is covered in a brown, writhing mass. You feel something crawling up you leg. When you look down, your whole body is covered.
The lone sombrero on the desk leaks water, down, down. Dripping to the floor.
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