Haunting Heaven

Week One

Tic toc.

Tic toc.

Tic toc.

I was getting anxious as the clock on the wall neared lunch time.

I have been avoiding any sign of Brandon Marshall all day.

But he was like a guard dog; everywhere.

I would look to my left, there he'd be, not too far away, squinting his dark brooding eyes in my direction.

Compared to him, I was a new born puppy, defenseless, too small, and weak.

Everything about him made me shiver.

I have seen the things he's done to his last victim.

I've seen the way he looks at everyone, as if we were all weeds growing in his path.

And I've heard rumors.

I've heard he leads a gang.

I've heard he fights for a living.

I've heard he's the reason his last victim went missing. Still hasn't been found.

Perhaps she's somewhere in a ditch, covered with mud and brown leaves, dying or already dead.

And perhaps she's somewhere in the world, running from her past and trying to make a new one.

Nobody knows for sure. After all, they're just assumptions from the creative mind.

Diiiiing Diiiiiiiiiiiing!!

Like rockets, the whole class stood up and rushed out the front door, some even forgetting their pencils and pens.

And the teacher, as always and everyday, begins to mumble to herself about how ungrateful and disrespectful teens have become these days.

And I don't blame her.

Without rushing, I put away my text books and folders in the correct cupboards, before slinging my charcoal black backpack over my shoulder.

"Have a good day Miss Thomas." I tell her as I do whenever I leave the class.

But today, she completely ignores me and begins to scrub the whiteboard clean.

Sighing, I quietly leave her classroom and look both ways around the hall.

When all was clear, I hurriedly trotted to the cafeteria that was crowded like usually. Instead of buying lunch, I grab an apple out of my bag, a sketchbook and pencil.

The little table I always sat at with Leslie was empty, besides myself. It was positioned by the window, just like I liked it. I remembered how much Leslie hated sitting near the window, but I had won the game of old fashioned rock-paper-scissors. After that we always say near the window, unbothered.

"One two three!" A voice shouted.

Suddenly, I felt something cold and wet run down my head and back, soaking my white sweater to the bone. I gasped and sputtered, shocked from what just happened.

I shivered and raised my eyes. He held an empty bottle of Pepsi, smirking in my face.

"Well don't you look wet and messy, darling." He laughed.

He then snapped his fingers.

And on cue, his friends behind him snapped pictures of my soaking, freezing self.

Feeling tears prick my eyes, I stood up and rushed out of the cafeteria with my backpack.

Just seconds later I realized my sketchbook was left on the table, most likely in the hands of him and his friends.

Mortified, cold, and upset, I hid in the bathroom.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I gripped the edge of the sink and fought my tears back. I refused to cry.

Without realizing someone else was in the restroom, the sound of a toilet flushing surprised me.

I looked down as the girl walked out. I could feel her heated stare at the back of my head, as she washed her hands.

More tears threatened to spill. A sniffle exited my throat accidentally. Hoping the girl hadn't heard, I turned the water tap on, watching my own hands that were sticky with sugar.

Feeling a tap on my shoulder, I turned only to see pity in the eyes of the girl.

"It was him wasn't it?" She whispered.

Sniffing some more, I slowly bobbed my head up and down.

"If I were you, I'd transfer schools as fast as I could. Before the real damage begins." She mumbled to me.

And like a telepathic superhero, she ran from the bathroom, leaving me to stare at my distraught expression in the mirror.

**