Hunted

Act 4; So Dead

He had no idea how it happened. Honest to goodness, no idea!

He was sure he set the alarm to go off an hour before the agreed upon time. He tidied up his bed to be as comfortable as possible. He set the air-con to a temperature that was cool enough, but not too cold that he'd doze the whole day off.

So how?

How in the name of all that is holy did he wake up a quarter pass eight!?

He was already running before his feet got off the bed, and he was brushing his teeth while putting on his formal pants. In a state of panic, all he did was wear the undershirt and put his arms into the dress shirt then the actual tux. He was running down a flight of staisr in socks and nothing buttoned as he checked his phone.

Ten missed calls, all from the same person, and he knew he was going to die tonight.

For a second, as he missed the footing and almost slipped, he considered not going. Why bother coming to a recital late anyway? Especially for someone who had nothing to do with ballet in the first place?

But the moment passed and he was shuffling to wear the only pair of formal shoes he owned, the ones prescribed by the school uniform. The lights were still on in that time. He skidded through the halls, his shoes squeaking over the linoleum floors, passing by the walls ordained by sports posters of the most renowned athletes in history and their quotes, serving as reminders to the aspiring students wanting to make it big in the future.

He pushed pass the double doors and into the entrance of the Sports Department, a lounge dedicated to all things sports, with racks for bats and rackets on one side, sofas and couches seldom used since everyone was always moving on another, and baskets of different balls on the other. The floor was a pastel yellow, yet to be muddled until Monday when the students came back to sully the indoors. The walls were red, a single bulletin board wide enough to cover an entire quarter of it was in the corner, showcasing team listings, announcements, practice schedules, and upcoming tournaments for which teams.

He exited the magenta door that led outside, and the cold autumn wind felt like it was out to stab him with frostbite. He shivered, buttoning his suit as far as it would go. Darn, he forgot his tie. Oh well. Live and learn. No, wait. He was gonna die tonight via Zack's wrath, so might as well start regretting everything he hadn't been able to do.

Like riding a bike down a hill at full speed. Or going grocery shopping by himself. Or acing a report in front of his class mates at least once. Or reaching level 50 in Over the Horizon. Or getting an actual girlfriend.

He felt depressed at the last part. Yeah, he's been on dates before, and yeah he's made out with a couple of 'em, but no one really appealed to him. Ever. It wasn't that he never tried, but more like... He never felt a spark with anyone?

He paused at a path intersection when a couple skaters passed by, doing flips he was a little familiar with from a game he played once.

Well, a spark might be a bit too cheesy. Despite his 2D nature, he was realistic to a point. He was, after all, on his last year of high school. He wasn't looking for someone to marry and settle down with. Just someone to be with. Was that too much to ask?

Actually, what was he asking? He never really thought about stuff like that before, so why now?

Oh yeah. Zack was gonna kill him tonight.