March 25, 2015

Our Humanities conference was taking place in a meeting room around a glass table. We were surrounded by large windows and panes of glass. Only 20 minutes were left and we managed to not talk about anything at all. I was erasing some pencil streaks on the table while thinking of something to say. I hadn’t taken any notes due to our unfruitful discussion.

Minutes later a group of parents streamed in to watch our class. Panic seized my body as I stood up and fell to the ground. I started convulsing uncontrollably on the ground while shouting at myself to stop and “go away”. Next to me on the carpet, two people were filling out a worksheet. The question that the two of them were poring over was what to call the legs that prop up a clock. They seemed to disagree between “stuckers” and “stalks”.

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We were running on the top of a train when one of the hatches opened up, revealing a man laying down inside. When he tried to reach up to grab us, his fingers were torn off at the metal edge. After looking at the man in the brown coat, she stomped and kicked his body until it was bloodied and limp.

The both of us jumped off of the carriages as she cut some of the tubes on the tracks, releasing pressure. A man came running towards us from the other direction to which she ordered, “don’t confront them!” He ran past us anyways, into the now burning wreckage that was once the train. We entered the room that the man had came out of and locked the door behind us. It didn’t lead anywhere else so our only plan was to wait out the whole ordeal.

Just minutes later there was a rattling at the door so I rushed up to the doorway to hold it still. A small microphone on a wire slipped in under the door as the voice from the other side said, “I can hear you. This is Clark, isn’t it?” I mouthed to my partner on the other side of the room “fuck” as the microphone was now tapping at my knee.