"Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, so do out minutes hasten to their end."
- William Shakespeare, Sonnet LX
07:09 a.m
11 days earlier
Even from his window with a brick wall for scenery, Tim could tell it was a misty morning, even as he changed into a fresh pair of blue jeans and brown, long sleeved, cotton shirt. Beads of dew rolled down the fogged up glass, the colour of the neighbouring bricks slightly desaturated with the mist, a scent of dirt floated even within the enclosed room. With a short glance over outside, Tim picked up his sweat-stained pyjamas and dumped them in the laundry basket in his bathroom for later. He looked for his air rifle but remembered he had left them at the Barber’s.
“You can’t do that!” Josh shouted from the living room.
Stunned in his place, Tim stood silent as the echo from his father rang throughout the apartment.
His father continued again, this time in a softer voice. “Yes, I’m aware that I was on medical leave,” a short period of quiet again. “Yes, I was at the protest, but that doesn’t mean-”
Curious, Tim grabbed his school bag and quietly opened and stepped around his door. In the living room cum kitchen, his father, still in his grey boxers and white singlets, stood facing the fridge, holding the house phone to his ear. Tim could see the man’s veins bulging around his neck and tightening fists.
“Look, please, I need this job or – No, I understand but – The protest wasn’t about that!” Josh raised his voice with the last line, punching the fridge door with his left hand. “Look boss, just give me another chance. I swear to you it won’t –” he was cut off for the last time it seems. For awhile, Josh stood there, unmoving, save for his trembling hands.
Suddenly, with a loud roar of anger, he threw the phone against the kitchen wall, the small appliance shattering into dozens of pieces, its shrapnel flung as far as to tap Tim lightly in the cheek. Burnt out and exhausted, Josh slammed his hands against the counter top, leaning into them with heavy sighs and deep breaths.
Tim didn’t move, standing in his spot observing his father, hands still on the handle of his rooms’ door. The clock on the wall ticked itself away and after what seemed like hours, he finally, gently, closed his door. The soft click as the metals slid into place caught Josh’s attention in the dead silence of the room, who turned to face his son.
As he wandered into his father's view, Tim said, “I’m going to school now.”
Josh slowly scanned the room for a moment, as if trying to locate the source of the voice before finally meeting his son's stare. “Yeah. Stay safe,” he said, having calmed considerably.
Tim couldn’t hold his gaze and awkwardly looked away. “Yeah,” he replied, before making his way to the main door, taking care not to step on any of the broken pieces of the electronic. After he had worn his sandals, he said, “Watch your steps,” before leaving the apartment.
XXX
07:55 a.m
11 days earlier
Waxed ceramic tiled floors stretched the dim light of the sun that shone from the school’s entrance. Tim’s footsteps echoed into the empty corridor of the high school with each passing second. He could count a total of six students in the hallway, sluggishly dragging their feet as they headed for their lockers and classrooms. An eerie veil of despair seemed to hang throughout the building.
He crossed the noticeboard that acted as the announcement board for the sports group in the school. A piece of A3 sized paper with large, black, and bold Aerial typeface was pinned over all other notices.
ACTIVITES CANCELLED
UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE
It didn’t require any special skills of deduction for Tim to know something was wrong that day and it would not be a normal school day. Confident in his deduction, he headed straight for his classroom without stopping by his locker to pick up his books. Despite it being just two minutes to the start of lessons, he only saw one teacher on his way to class. Just as he reached the door of his class, Mrs. Harway, with her frilly grey hair, smiled grimly as she passed, only meeting his stare for a split second before nervously turning away. He turned to watch the older woman’s silhouette melt into another classroom further down before entering his own, just as the bell rang.
The classroom, including Tim himself, had a total of eleven students. He locked eyes with Stella, who sat at her corner seat, and she nodded for him to go over.
Tim crossed glances with his classmates. Some of the more studious ones continued to pour through their textbooks while the rest shifted uncomfortably in their seats, smiling weakly when Tim greeted them.
He reached Stella’s desk and asked, “Where’s Clay?”
Playfully annoyed, she adjusted her green cardigan, which was worn over a white shirt, and smoothed out the creases in her jeans before replying, “What? No, ‘Hi Stell.’ or ‘How’s it going Stell?’, just straight up ‘Where’s Clay?’, is it now?”
He sat on the empty desk beside hers, sarcastically replying, “How are you Stell?”
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Meh, could be better,” she replied with a shrug.
“So where’s your brother?”
“Hookie. Not that it really matters considering our numbers,” she looked grimly around the near empty class as did Tim. “I don’t think our teacher’s coming in today either.”
“Any announcements?” he asked, a sinking feeling growing in his gut.
“Mary said the principal is holding a meeting with the school board right now,” Mary was the student body president and one of Stella’s friend. “From what she says, seems like one third of the school are confirmed to have Sin. Maybe more.”
I have Sin too. he wanted to say to her. He turned back to her and swallowed hard, saying, “That’s a pretty high number,” instead.
There was no point in worrying her further, and knowing Stella and her brother, Tim was sure they’d share their Somnidin with him. But given that his first dream had been just two nights ago and the siblings had them much longer, while averaging out the time most people lasted with Sin, he felt they needed the pills more than he did.
A loud bang caused the pair to jump in their seats. Turning around, the door to the classroom had been flung wide opened. In the archway stood the tall, skinny, red headed Joseph, captain of the Air Rifle Team. Dried blood marked the spot of the bandage around his head where Clay had smacked the broom into just the week before. Slung over his shoulders was his brown air rifle and in his right hand, an aluminium baseball bat. There was no doubt he was there for a fight.
Joseph said through gritted teeth, “Where’s Clay?”
The other students sat stone-still in their seats, eyeing the senior with wide, fearful looks, afraid to move in case it agitated him.
Tim got to his feet and turned his back to Stella. At the same time, Stella stood from her seat as well. He waved his right hand behind him, signalling for her to hide behind his back. She did so, holding tightly onto his shirt and leaning into him like a pillar.
Under a hushed whisper, she said to Tim, “Why doesn’t anyone ask about the girl these days?”
Tim smirked. Like brother like sister. Calm in the face of danger, witty against enemy, not a single damn given.
“I ask again,” Joseph growled. He raised his bat and slammed it against the nearest empty table. The other students jumped in their seats. The sound was deafening in the small room, a crack forming on the plastic desk that was hot. He looked Tim squarely in the eyes, shouting, “Where is Clay Barber?!”
Keeping his calm, Tim placed his hands on the desk in front if him. “Don’t know. Maybe you should leave a message after the beep.”
A maniac anger flashed across Joseph’s face. Brows contracted, lips frowned, a glisten of madness in his eyes. “That disgusting faggot gave me that stupid nightmare disease.”
“He has Sin!” Stella whispered so only Tim could hear. “Joseph got it too.”
Joseph caught sight of Stella’s small form behind Tim. “You’re the sister aren’t you?”
Stepping out from Tim’s shadow while still holding onto his shirt, she defiantly replied, “Sorry, but I don’t date meatheads like you.”
“Stupid bitch!” The senior moved towards them, raising the bat over his shoulder. “You’re gonna tell me where your brother is or I’m gonna fucking kill you!”
Joseph was halfway across the classroom. Tim slid his hands under the table he leaned against. His classmates started to scatter for the exit. Joseph was three-quarters away from the pair. Stella let go of Tim’s shirt. Joseph raised the bat above his head.
Tim shouted, “Now!” he pulled his arms up, flipping and throwing the table into Joseph. Stella bolted for the back door, sliding in between tables and chairs as their classmates started shouting and screaming as they ran for the exits as well.
Joseph stumbled back, cursing under his breath as blood flowed from a brand new head wound the table caused. The club captain regained his footing and swung his bat at Tim’s head. Tim ducked, the weapon scraping the nap of his neck. Tim grabbed the legs of the nearest chair, stepped forward, and rammed his shoulders into Joseph, dragging the chair across the floor.
The older teen lost his balance again, tripping back and slamming back first into the whiteboard. Joseph slumped to a kneel and Tim brought the chair crashing down against his captain’s back and forcing him to drop face flat on the floor.
Stella shouted from the door, “Tim!” he turned to face her as she gestured to him. “Let’s go!”
Tim turned back to his captain, who miraculously, was still trying to push himself back on his feet.
Not letting the opportunity slip by him, Tim ran for where Stella stood. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her out of the classroom just as the glass panel of a noticeboard opposite them shattered with a clack.
They ran through the hallway, their footsteps loud as drums in the empty, dimly lit corridor. A few students peeked out from their respective classrooms and Mrs. Harway, with her frilly grey hair shouted, “No running in the halls!”
A loud clang echoed against the steel lockers as another one of Joseph’s pellets shot at them. They reached the bathrooms that faced each other and Tim pushed Stella towards the male one, which she entered without question. He jumped into the female one and closed the door behind him, leaning into it with his shoulders and an ear to the wood.
A gasp of surprise drew his attention. He glanced from the corner of his eyes and could make out the figure of two girls near the basin. He let out a angled grin, “Hey ladies,” before returning to focus on the noise outside, despite the voice of objections from the two females.
Save for the whispers of his schoolmates in the bathroom with him, everything else protruded a deafening silence and Tim wondered if Joseph might have left, or passed out from the hit from the chair in the end. A loud bang from the corridor proved him wrong and hushed the girls in the bathroom.
“Get out here Timmy boy! I’m not through with you yet!” the teen hammered again at the door of the male bathroom, as Tim had hoped he would, drawing attention away from himself.
Slowly, he opened his bathroom door and with as small an opening as possible, shimmied his way back into the hallway. He watched as Joseph raised his bat and smashed against the male bathroom door a third time, digging a visible splintered dent into the wood. Silently, Tim closed the door slowly and noiselessly.
Tim shallowed his breathing, approaching his captain with his toes tipped. Joseph slammed his bat into the door a forth time as Tim crossed the middle point of the hallway, within range to his captain. The senior raised the bat again. This time, Tim reached out, grabbed the tipped of the bat firmly with both hands and yanked it away, disarming the captain and sending the weapon clattering across the tile floor.
Not giving his enemy time to rest, Tim jumped onto the larger teen’s back and pulled using his weight until his feet could touched the ground again, leaning with his weight, angling Joseph’s back in an unnatural arc.
Though surprise and blood ladened his face, Joseph managed to reach out with his lanky arms and wrapped his hands around Tim’s head, intending to break Tim’s neck should they fall. They stared, eye to eye, neither budging from their awkward hold.
“Stella!” Tim shouted.
The girl, on cue, stepped out of the bathroom, a mop in hand, with a strangely fitting grace and flow in her steps. With a golf club grip, she stepped forward and swung the cleaning equipment at Joseph’s testicles.
Tim could see the fight leave Joseph’s bloodshot eyes when the hit connected. The senior released his grip on the junior, falling backwards. Though just to be sure, Tim extended his knee to the back of Joseph’s head and slammed into it. His body limped. His legs, losing their gripped, slipped forward, and the captain of the Air Rifle Club fell to the floor out cold.
Stella poked their opponent with the mop before calmly declaring, “He’s not getting up for awhile.”
Panting slightly, Tim stood to height, taking in the fresh smell of victory, which oddly, scented of blueberry detergent. After assessing the scene, he unclipped Joseph’s air rifle and slung it over his own shoulder.
“What’s happening here?!” Mrs. Harway, with her frilly hair, shouted from further down the hall.
Tim and Stella exchanged a quick glance and he said, “We should run.”
“Yes, we should,” she replied.
They ran.