A Slight Incident

As the resonant toll of the bell reverberated through the labyrinthine corridors of the school, a throng of students surged toward the exit, eager to embrace the freedom that signaled the end of the day's scholastic rigors. Four precious hours of respite lay ahead, a tantalizing prospect for Peter, who envisaged the potential leisure moments that could have been savored. However, a looming shadow of concern darkened his thoughts—Micah was in the throes of a distressing experience.

Watching Micah falter and collapse to his knees, gripped by unseen torment, sent a paroxysm of panic through Peter's heart. With desperate haste, he pulled his stricken friend towards the sanctuary of the bunker, their haven before the next class beckoned.

This unforeseen delay led to Peter's tardiness for Physical Education class, invoking the wrath of the gym teacher, an inconvenience that would likely echo into the morrow. Yet, such trifles dimmed when compared to the profound distress plaguing Micah.

Micah was teetering on the precipice of madness, the relentless assault of visions threatening to shatter his grip on reality. Peter grappled with the urge to help, yet fear held him captive, restraining the noble impulse.

After the P.E. class, Peter hastened to the bunkers, each step a testament to his determination. Marking the halls like checkpoints guiding him back to their dorm, he reached the cabin where Micah lay, head bowed in weariness.

The room was a tableau of fatigued students, seeking solace in their beds. Micah appeared to be resting, attempting to mask the distress that lurked beneath the surface. Peter couldn't dispel his skepticism, the gnawing worry refusing to relent. He fetched a cup from the table, filled it with water, and extended it to Micah.

"Are you okay?" he inquired, concern evident in his voice, as the water cascaded into the cup.

"Sure," Micah replied, weariness lacing his words.

Peter handed him the cup, watching as Micah drank the water, each gulp a reassurance that he was still tethered to reality.

"Have you been hearing voices?" The question hung in the air, a poignant reminder of the unseen trials Micah was enduring.

The bell's echoing toll signaled the end of their momentary respite. Despite the tumultuous events, they had to return to their academic duties, with the specter of the nurse's enigmatic actions lingering in the air.

Stepping through the doorway into the next class—History with Ms. James—they were greeted by the sight of a large window adorned with a voluminous curtain, filtering the ambient light. Desks were occupied by students, and an eerie aura pervaded the room, casting a disquieting pall.

Peter thought that perhaps the familiar setting of a classroom might bring solace to Micah, who was still visibly shaken. They took their seats, the air thick with apprehension.

Ms. James, engrossed in writing her name on the board, turned suddenly, almost startling Peter. "Hello students," she greeted, her voice warm and inviting.

"Hello, Ms. James," responded the children in unison, their voices tinged with despondency.

She offered a slight chuckle, attempting to lighten the somber atmosphere. "You don't need to do that. Just open your books."

The rustle of flipping pages sent a shiver down Peter's spine as he glanced at Micah. Micah tried to appear composed, but the telltale twitching of his fingers betrayed his inner turmoil.

Class proceeded, a blur of sentences and paragraphs. It was only a matter of time before chemistry class would begin, a subject that, despite being for high school students, was thrust upon thirteen-year-olds with unrelenting focus.

Exiting the classroom, Peter couldn't suppress his curiosity and concern. "What was going on with you in that class?" he asked Micah.

"The visions—they kept appearing at random," Micah replied, his voice fraught with distress.

Peter felt a rising sense of disgust at the relentless trials Micah was enduring. "Well, perhaps you should see the nurse," he suggested, his worry laced with hope.

Micah remained pensive, blinking in contemplation. "That's it!"

"What?"

"The nurse—she might have answers about these visions and terrifying experiences I've been enduring."

Peter offered his support for the idea, albeit tinged with reluctance. He was torn, knowing he might be accused of revealing the mysterious actions of the nurse. Yet, the need to help Micah outweighed his reservations.

Micah swiftly made his way to the nurse's office. The only course of action for Peter was to follow his friend, traversing through the field and ascending the stairs. Having glimpsed this path only an hour and thirty minutes ago, it seemed more familiar and convenient than initially thought.

Micah rapped on the door, calling out, "Nurse." The door creaked open slowly, and the nurse appeared, visibly startled.

"Oh, you two," she said, turning her gaze toward Peter. Nervousness danced in her eyes.

Micah entered the room, promptly positioning himself on the bed. "I've been having some problems, nurse," he said softly. "I've been experiencing visions and terrifying phenomena since the past hour. I need help."

"Well, I don't know how to help you," the nurse admitted, her uncertainty palpable.

"It's probably your medicine, and you're just fearful," she added dismissively. Micah sighed, looking at a picture on the wall. It depicted Mrs. Jist and the nurse, smiling beside a large "welcome" board.

"How long until the next class starts?" Micah asked the nurse. The nurse stopped fidgeting, responding, "About ten minutes."

"Okay," Micah said, sighing.

Peter fought back tears as he witnessed the sorrow and pain etched across Micah's face. "Isn't there anything you can do?" he implored, his voice laced with sympathy.

The nurse fell silent, her gaze fixed on the table, lost in thought. She pondered without uttering a word.

"No," she finally responded, shattering Peter's fragile hope.

Resigned, she turned the bed toward the wall, allowing Micah to walk out. "Sorry, but I think it'll get better," she offered, her words ringing hollow.

As Micah walked out, Peter watched the door slowly close behind them. Their options were dwindling, and time was slipping through their fingers.

"Well—uh, sorry—"

"No, no—it's alright."

Micah, burdened with regret, sank down to the ground, and Peter, driven by empathy, joined him. "What if these visions aren't caused by the nurse? What if they manifest naturally?"

"What do you mean, manifest naturally?" Micah rasped, his voice laced with desperation.

After a moment of reflection, Peter quickly responded, "Because, there's no way that this is solely due to the nurse."

"I never said it was because of the nurse," Micah said, slowly turning to Peter.

Peter gulped, overcome by a surge of hysteria. "You know something," he said, inching closer to Peter. "Tell me!"

"Tell you what?"

"What happened to me!"

Micah suddenly halted, breathing heavily as realization dawned upon him.

"I'm losing my mind."

"What makes you think that?"

Peter was met with silence, and the toll of the bell disrupted their conversation, stirring them from their contemplation. "We have to go," Peter insisted, anxiety gnawing at his heart. "We can't be late for our next class." Micah remained unresponsive, seemingly more frozen than before.

Peter's worry escalated, his heart pounding relentlessly within his chest. He waited for a minute, then gave Micah a gentle tap on the shoulder.

"Micah?"

In a hasty motion, he pushed him, rousing him from his trance.

"What happened?" Micah asked, bewildered, scanning his surroundings.

Peter sighed.

"You were frozen, for about a minute."

"It's those dreams."

"Yes, I'm quite aware of that," Peter muttered vexedly. "We need to hurry up and get to class, okay?"

Micah nodded slowly, then gathered himself to his feet.

Peter did the same, sighing with relief as they left the nurse's office. As they stepped onto the field, Micah began to scrutinize his surroundings as if sensing an impending event.

His eyes started to blur, and he felt like he was unraveling.

Suddenly, he glanced to the side, witnessing something almost unimaginable.

A shroud of mist, ghostly swordsmen, surged towards the center.

Abruptly, he shifted his gaze to the side, encountering a similar sight—figures shrouded in black armor exuding a sinister aura.

His body involuntarily jerked left and right, emitting shrill screams unnaturally.

Finally, he crumpled to his knees, clutching his chest in agony.

Struggling to keep his gaze aloft, he succumbed as the pain dragged his head downward.

Darkness was all he could perceive, his eyes closing in surrender.