Hey, hey, just one chapter for now. Depending on the response I get from it would I continue as this piece is currently a random thought I JUST hade to write down, haha.

Hope you enjoy!

I was sitting at the back of the room. Mrs. Stephens introduced cell division today, and I dutifully listened and occassionally took notes as she lectured.

A guy just in front of me began a striking yawn. His slacked attitude permeated inside the class and I was no exception. The need to yawn made my tears pool, blurring my vision.

But I can't yawn.

Not in a class where participation was marked. There's no way I would risk marks because I got infected of someone's sloth.

No, that would ruin my image, my fun.

As a straight laced student that never got so low as B minus, I had an unblemished stereotypical impression of an honor student to keep. Namely, the smile plastered to my face, the horrifying focus on my studies that scared bullies away, and the glasses. Yes, glasses was such an impottant tool of disguise.

Well, to teachers at least.

Not soon enough, bells rung and the class was dismissed.

I finally became free from stuffy classroom for the day, and I swiftly packed my things up, headed towards the bus stop, and ultimately to the most precious, beloved, one and only room of mine. Yes, I was weird in a cute way, I say.

This is me. If I would define myself, then the word boring would not be spared. School, work, and home was the contents of my schedule. I do like doing other things, but going with my peers was something I rather avoid because, one reason or another, I couldn't connect properly with people my age. Their fun was something ridiculous for me, while my my fun was boring to them. Bars and alcohol for them, when I just wanted a comfy blanket, popcorn, and Netflix.

Of course, not all teenagers wanted night outs, and I do know some who empathizes with my hobbies.

...But, I just can't bring myself to do any thing else besides being too formal, or something while talking to fellow teenagers. Yes, I get scared feet every single time and the formal, all-too-perfect-attitude was my version of being nervous.

In the end, I simply ruin the mood one way or another.

I wasn't so insensitive to not notice this, that was why, I kept to my miserable self and spare everyone from awkward moments.

Ahem.

Let me make myself clear. I wasn't hated, ostracized or anything of the sort as a result, instead, I have neutral so-so relationship with everyone.

The kind of stranger no one bothered to mess with 'cause they know what's good for them...

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Ahem, my imagination is running wild.

Anyway, let me end the gloomy introduction, and proceed to something much more interesting.

What exactly was in my room that I loved so much?

The door.

With a lock.

For secrecy.

Fufufu.

...No, I wasn't doing anything 'privately' funny inside my room.

My room, sealed by that door, make the space that belonged only to me. A space so no one would question why I locked myself up for hours. Becoming straight laced student was all for the purpose of being a shut in with reasonable excuses. I tell my parents that it was all for the sake of studying...

Hmm? So what? Get straight to the point?

It's coming. It's coming.

Teleport.

Yes, teleport. As in, covering thousands of meters of distance in a blink of an eye.

I am saying that I could do it.

Teleport, I say.

I could watch the rising sun in Japan, then have breakfast at a five star hotel in paris even though the sun was setting there and I barely speak French...

Theoretically, yes, if I have money that is.

Anyway, back to teleporting.

Today's after school activities is called, 'Operation Mary and the Little Lamb'.

That is to say, I will be the little lamb, and I will stalk... Mary Jack. That's the code name he unknowingly have. I call him Jack because of his hobby, the Ripper...

And yeah, he's a serial murderer.

Stalking psycho killers is hard core! It gives me exciting shivers... fufufu.

I know that in doing this, something is terribly wrong with me. I know that this action is beyond the so-called right and wrong. I know that watching someone kill someone is leaning more to the darker shades of grey.

But still.

Movies show them... killing, and blood, and gore, and death, I mean.

Even further back, there were those things called arena or colliseum for scenes of carnage, wasn't there?

Further, further, further back. And still true today. People kill to eat.

In literature, violence is just one spice.

In life, violence is similarly also a spice, a change of pace, a necessity.

After all, black and white world is not worth living for.

Now then, I am Hannah, and I consider myself a curious observer especiallizing in the field of violence.

God, or not, or whoever, or whatever allowed me to be capable of teleporting, sorry, but I will be doing as I please regardless of what you will.

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