It was only ten minutes into third period and Chris couldn't take it. The sound of chalk on the blackboard tap tap tapping after each finished letter combined with the droning voice of the teacher was almost enough to put him into a coma. A coma in purgatory, he wondered silently to himself about what that would be like. Certainly better than his current state of rest—or should he say lack there off. Apparently even death wasn't an escape from the torture he and many others called school. Without much hesitation Chris grabbed his board from beneath his desk and slung his backpack over his right shoulder. "Class isn't finished, Mr Wolfe." Said the teacher at the front, monotone and detached. Her tone betrayed any intent of caring about the matter and yet still she made the effort to disrupt the lesson. Chris paused a moment to turn to her, shrug, and then promptly leave through the door. He would neither be missed or penalized for leaving. Most of the students hadn't even batted an eye; which made him wonder why they didn't leave more often, and then he wondered why he even bothered to show up at all.
Outside the sky loomed grey overhead just as it had the other day, and the day before that, and so on. In fact, Chris wasn't yet set on the idea that days even passed, for what was defined as a day in purgatory? If this was eternity what was the point of counting? On his way out Chris grabbed for the cigarette that he had earlier tucked in his back pocket before coming to school. It was slightly bent and out of shape but it wasn't something to concern himself with, especially when it wasn't really a cigarette. Chris lit it and watched the white burn to a blunt black before inhaling, exhaling, and then letting it hang gingerly between his lips. It certainly looked like the ones he'd gotten addicted to not many living years ago, but it lacked every defining feature a real cigarette possessed, all but the physical features. When he inhaled and exhaled smoke billowed as any normal cigarette would but what he felt inside was nothingness, something very similar to the perpetual state he was currently in. It—like everything else here—was empty and full of deceiving promises. In this damned world what you saw was likely not what you would get. Everything here was eerily familiar but devoid of the authenticity of life. It was a drab and lackluster world of one once known.
After walking for a solid ten blocks with his board under his arm, Chris found an isolated spot separate from the dead panned townspeople out for their daily walks. He continued off the path and onto the field, past the trees, and to the far corner where a bench nestled between two bushes. He dropped his board on the ground and plopped his bag next to it. Instead of sitting down he stubbed out his cigarette before laying down on the bench with his knees bent upwards. As he was about to close his eyes he heard a noise, which was unmistakably the sound of feet on grass, so he sat back up. "You know, despite this calm demeanor I don't take lightly to those who follow me." He was in the process of turning around when he spoke.
Chris' eyes grew wide at what he found standing not more than five feet away from him. If he hadn't been awake earlier he sure as hell was now. "...Charlotte?"
