Something Else

The Scarlet Vandal

I couldn't camp out in the hallway of course, as that would be an obvious red flag. Luckily for me, I happened to know a bit about the system. I knew they couldn't watch everyone at once, no matter how hard they tried. If I was going to pull this off, I would have to act painfully natural. I finished the rest of my work, painted over the graffiti as best I could, then discreetly brought my cart back into the broom closet, a typical end-of-the-day activity.

The catch is, I never came back out again.

God, just writing this out makes me feel insane. It was a risky move, and more than once I questioned my own sanity. What was I doing? I might as well just let it go and take the sewer duty, or whatever else they planned on throwing at me. How could I justify the hours spent crouching in a closet, prepared to hurt someone to get my way? It was so outrageous, so...

Human.

I shuddered at the thought.

Anyway, I was pretty much solidified in my choice now. There was no way I'd slip under the radar, leaving the school this late at night. I could move around the interior with ease as they'd most likely mistake me for a night shift janitor, but the moment I tried to leave, that was it. Game over.

Now It's been hours, and I'm seriously considering just driving myself over to the nearest correctional facility. It's where I'm headed next, anyway. Obviously, I was wrong. Nobody's coming, and I've just wasted my last night as a free citizen crouched in a closet on a pile of wet rags.

That's when I hear it.

At first, I think I've imagined the sound. It's late, or early maybe, I don't really know anymore. It could easily just be my imagination out to get me. I listen harder, and now I'm sure that it's real. It's not the loud clash of cans I'm expecting, but a low hissing, like air being released from a balloon.

Spray paint.

I jump up as fast as I can, grab my gun and lunge for the door handle. Bad decision. The hours spent in perfect stillness have clearly worn down on my motor control. My head collides with the cart and I cry out in pain. It's a hard hit, that I can tell. I lie there, ears ringing, sprawled out on the closet floor. In a daze, raise my shaking fingers to my right temple. They come back coated in a warm substance, but my brain doesn't quite register the blood.

The hissing stops.

I hear footsteps creep towards me, slow and threatening.

I raise my eyes up as the door creaks open, locking eyes with the figure standing there.

My breath catches as I see her, the scarlet vandal. She's so young, maybe fourteen, fifteen.

Darkness claws at the edge of my vision, and the last thing I see is the little strip of exposed skin by her neck. It's impossible to miss. Where's her cuff?

It all goes black.