Warm blood. Slick blood.

The flavor, rich and with just a hint of metal, coated the inside of my mouth while I chewed on the source of this tender ambrosia.

Soft meat. Tender meat.

Like a fine steak dinner at an expensive restaurant. It was like garlic butter smothering a steak, running over the sides and into the side dishes.

None of that could compare to the absolute satisfaction my mouth and tongue were currently delighting in. The experience, the sensations, it was all so overwhelming.

I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I wanted more. I needed more. Forever and ever, more.

There was something else though. Something was trying to intrude on the enjoyment I was having.

A voice, in the back of my mind, trying to tell me something. Is it a thought? An Idea?

What could it be trying to tell me? Do I care?

The obvious answer came to me quickly. No.

I don’t really care about what some strange voice in my head has to say. If it was trying to interfere with my meal, why should I let it?

My mind happily focused back on the delectable bounty still before me. This succulent steak dinner, this nourishing ambrosia, this most important thing.

If my brain had something of importance to share, it would do well not to be so vague and obtuse about it.

Suddenly my mind’s eye was filled with bright red, and my nostrils were overwhelmed with the strong scent of metals. With some effort, I shook off these intrusive thoughts and pushed them aside.

My hands, eager for more, reached down to pull off another piece of my bloody supper. As I do so my vision wanders to look over at how much I still have left to enjoy. As my eyes started their examination, first moving left reaching one end, and then moving right reaching the other. The nagging voice inside me had grown louder and louder as my eyes found a matching pair. Eyes that were the same color as my own.

One pair staring into the other. Those eyes, they were looking at me. Were these eyes the source of that voice? No that couldn’t be. The voice and its ceaselessly intrusive ideas seemed to flow from within me, from the back of my head. Still though, these vacant staring eyes seemed so very loud without saying a word.

What were they saying?

Were they saying anything, or was it still my rebellious thoughts wheedling away at my conscious mind?

Was I going crazy?

But I could almost hear them now. Those same blue eyes, staring back at me, into me. So many weighty questions left unspoken.

Awaken…

****************************************************************

“Miss Morrow!” A loud voice demanded. “Your answer please?”

I jumped up in my seat and began looking around in desperate confusion.

I was in class, English class specifically, with an angry Mr. Gomez staring down at me.

“Wow, you like completely nodded off there huh?” a nearby student said.

My thoughts were still too lost and jumbled to respond. What was that dream? It felt so disturbingly real. I reached up to place my fingertips on my lips. Why can I taste blood and...

“Miss Morrow, any time now if you please!” An even angrier Mr. Gomez ordered.

“S-sorry sir, c-could you repeat the question, sir?” I tried to give the sweetest most innocent of smiles. Please, please work, I vainly thought.

Mr. Gomez closed his eyes. He slowly and meticulously took off his glasses, and proceeded to pinch the bridge of his nose with his other hand and slowly started to count out loud.

“One, two, three,…”

Eventually, when he reached ten, he put his glasses back on to look down at me to respond to my entreaty.

“Miss Morrow, I had asked you a question about the reading you were supposed to have done last night, Edgar Allen Poe’s Cask of Amontillado. Does that ring any bells? You did the reading last night, didn’t you?”

“Y-yes sir. I did, sir.” I replied as quickly as I could manage, hoping that what I said was actually the truth.

Did I do the reading? I was still having a hard time unscrambling my brain and pulling up any memories from before the class. Truthfully, I was having a hard time thinking about anything other than the crazy, messed-up dream I had just been having. Whenever I tried to think about something else, like homework, my mind would seem to just snap back to that dream. It was difficult to even focus on what was happening in the classroom around me. It was like my mind was forcing me to focus on the dream despite my very sincere wish to do otherwise.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

‘Focus Jennifer!’ I yelled at myself internally.

Homework. Last night.

Desperately I forced my stubborn brain to obey my fraying will. Did I do the reading assignment? Of course I did, I almost always did my homework.

With that thought my brain slowly started to release its vice-like hold on the memories I was in desperate need of.

I could recall now, staying up late to finish all of my homework. My English assignment was the last thing I worked on before bed. I even read through the story twice, just to be sure I caught all the details in case I was in a situation exactly like the one I currently found myself in.

Some might consider works of horror and suspense like Poe’s Cask of Amontillado, disturbing to read, but I always liked reading Poe. I didn’t have any trouble going to bed, and I didn’t even have any nightmares interrupting my sleep last night.

Maybe my nightmare in class was just a delayed reaction from what I read last night?

Before I could consider this further, my teacher’s voice thundered out, piercing my introspection.

“Good, I’m glad to hear that then. So you should be able to answer my question.”

Slowly I was able to pull my focus back to the tall looming figure before me.

“Why was…” Mr. Gomez started to ask before a loud ringing bell signaled the end of class.

Not even a second passed before all the students were packing up their things making a deafening clamor in the process.

“Son of a…” Mr. Gomez’s mood was definitely not improving. “Remember your worksheets, what we’ve discussed about his life and its effect on his work. If you don’t have it completed for the next class that will mean a detention alongside the loss of your missed points from the assignment.”

All the students in class let out a series of grumbles as they quickly tried to make for the door and escape to freedom.

“Miss Morrow, please stay after class for a minute.” He announced loudly enough to be heard over the departing mass of noisy students.

“Dang sucks to be you.” an annoying boy from nearby said.

I gave the annoying boy, named Luke, a half-hearted smirk in acknowledgment of whatever it was he said. Luke was always saying irritating things like that to me when he got the chance.

My own thoughts and heart were racing, trying to figure out what to say to Mr. Gomez. He wasn’t exactly a mean teacher or even unfair, but he did have a well-deserved stern reputation and an imposing demeanor.

I had to admit I was always a bit nervous around him, despite being one of the better students in his class. Except today of course.

As the other students finally managed to unjam themselves from the doorway and join the swarming tide of other students in the hall, I walked up to the teacher’s desk awaiting my inevitable death sentence.

Well, not an actual death sentence. Mr. Gomez wouldn’t execute one of his students.

Probably.

As the room slowly returned to silence once more, my teacher finally spoke.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked softly.

I was taken aback a bit by the tone. It forced me to consider him for a moment. His words were kinder than I had expected, but his expression still seemed harsh.

Thinking about it for a moment, I decided I should probably just be honest. I don’t really have anything to gain by deceiving him.

“Yes, I think so, Mr. Gomez.” I replied tentatively.

“Then tell me what happened. It seemed like you were just completely passed out there.”

“I ah, admit that I did fall asleep in your class. I’m not sure why that happened, to be honest.” I really didn’t.

I’ve never slept in class before, and I told him as much.

“I’ve never done that before sir.”

“Hmph, well I would advise you not to make a habit of it.” he coolly counseled.

“Last night I thought I slept okay, but maybe I didn’t after all. I’m really sorry Mr. Gomez. I promise I won’t do it again sir. I really promise.” I told him with complete honesty on my part.

“Promises are a serious thing, Miss Morrow. Don’t make them idly if you don’t really mean to stick to them.” He warned.

“I really mean it, sir.” I quickly told him. “I really don’t know what came over me. I swear I won’t let it happen again.”

“Well if that’s the case, I’m happy to hear it.” He said the expression on his face had started to soften a bit.

“Since it’s still early in the year, and this is the first time you and I have had a discussion like this, I’m inclined to give you just a warning and not bother with detention. I hope that is alright with you.” He actually gave me a bit of a sly smile.

I didn’t even know he could do that.

“O-oh y-yes sir, that’s quite alright. I really don’t mind” I tried to give an equally casual reply. I couldn’t help feeling like I just sounded like a dumb little child to him.

He did give a small chuckle back though.

“I’m glad to hear it. You’ve been one of my better students so far, so I was a bit worried, to be honest.”

He was worried about me? That was a bit hard to believe.

Why was that hard to believe though? He was her teacher and wasn't looking after his student's well-being a part of his job.

“I’m really okay sir, it was just a bad dream.” I confessed, a bit more candidly than I intended.

“A bad dream?” Concern started to creep back onto his face.

“Uh, I mean yes, I guess I had a nightmare. Or at least something like it, when I fell asleep.” I tried to explain.

Why did I have to share that it was a nightmare? Now he is going to ask even more questions, and I might have made even more problems for myself.

God why am I so dumb sometimes. Just brush it off like it’s no big deal. Hopefully, he buys it.

“I think my brain was just using the stuff we were talking about in class to make my dream. You know, all the uh, stuff about Edgar Allen Poe and the Cask of Amontillado.”

“Ah, I see. I can see how Poe’s work might give you nightmares.” He paused for a moment as if considering what he wanted to say. “I hope the subject matter isn’t too unnerving for you.”

“Oh, I don’t think so sir. I actually really don’t mind reading horror stories at all. I guess it’s just, sometimes, your own mind really knows the best ways to scare you.”

“I imagine that’s probably true. Well if it’s nothing serious then, I won’t keep you. Best make it to lunch before all the pizza is gone, wouldn’t want to have to settle for a salad right?” Mr. Gomez offered another rare smirk as tried to put an end to our talk.

Truthfully, I actually liked having the salad. Instead of telling him that though I just said.

“Definitely sir. I’ll uh, see you tomorrow in class.”

“You will, good day Miss Morrow.” As he turned his attention to the papers on his desk and started looking through them, I quickly hurried out of the classroom and down to the cafeteria.

“God I’m so late.” I couldn’t help whining to myself. The lines were bound to be packed and anything edible was going to be picked clean by the time I ever reached the front.

“Frick!” I yelled at the empty and unresponsive hallway.