Running Out on the Edge

I growl at Mr Sanders as he drones on and on about Of Mice And Men, oblivious to Neil nodding off across the room from me, James doodling in his English book opposite me and, indeed, me growling at him. Only one person is paying attention to Sir's words, and I barely know the guy, less so his actual name. I think he’s Phil. I don’t know. I don’t care.

“Pack away your things, stand behind your chairs,” comes the usual signal for the end of the lesson. “Alex, can I see you for a second?”

I nod as Harry pushes past me, muttering to me as he passes. “Good luck.” I ignore him. I’d just regret it otherwise.

“Alex, I just need you to take these forms down to Student Reception. Give them to Mrs Hunt, please,” Mr Sanders begins. “And be careful not to mix them up. I spent so long organising them into the right order last night.”

“Right,” I agree, hefting the heavy stack of tree skin and black ink off the desk. It is not too heavy to carry, but heavy enough to warrant clutching it close to my chest with both arms.

The walk is long, and I hate every last minute of it. For a 16 year old, rather round boy with poor people skills, nobody cares. Well, they can hate me all they wanted. Trip me up, call me names, beat me up, it doesn’t matter in the long run. Because they will die one day, then I… My imagination is becoming disturbingly violent; I shouldn’t let it out of control. A small lapse in concentration could give someone an opportunity to give me a hell of a ribbing. Physically or verbally.

Forms delivered without incident, I turn and begin to head to my usual haunt, the stairs to the computer rooms. There was the only place I could not be bullied, as there was quite the obvious camera scanning the area. I pull open the doors, drop my bags next to the radiator and lift myself onto the narrow window ledge, balancing well despite my thick frame. The doors are on rising hinges, so I need not worry about closing them manually. I lie down on the ledge and stare out the window, allowing my imagination to wander, completely ignoring the people walking past just as they ignore me. The camera would pick them up otherwise.
In my imagination, I see a world of my own creation, original and yet not. Nothing is of my own thoughts, and yet they act in the ways my subconscious demanded. A Shoggoth squelches along, forming and tipping a hat to the golden form of Stephano as PewDiePie carries him towards Steve, who is busy crafting a new diamond hoe with his blocky hands, something that never ceases to amuse me. Diamond compression with bare hands? How come he can do that and not me?

I am jerked from my reverie by a sudden slam from the top of the stairs, then quick footsteps. I slide off the windowsill and lean against the wall casually as the footsteps reach my level. A teacher walks past without even realising I am there and walks straight through the doors, muttering darkly about some pay cuts the IT staff are apparently going through. I don’t know, nor do I care. I climb back up onto the windowsill, looking back out of the window and quietly thinking, childish imagination replaced by mathematical formulae. My imaginative mind and my literal mind are almost different people.

I become engrossed in my thoughts, maths and science filling my cranium, blocking out almost everything around me. I am careful to keep listening for any teachers who come along (lying on the window ledge is not permitted in school) which is why I am able to notice the quiet noise streaming from next to my spot. A quiet whirring, like that of a machine, and yet strangely organic. I glance over to see a strange, lavender coloured glowing ball floating in mid-air in the middle of the room. This mysterious occurrence confuses and unnerves me, and I am quick to get as far away from it as the tiny amount of space I am in allows. And yet, I cannot tear my eyes away from it. The mysterious object or energy or whatever it may be is beautiful in a way that I cannot describe, lest I allow my words to become nought but flowery poetry and oh God it’s growing bigger. I look around, hoping for a way out of this situation. The window behind me does not open and even then, I am not the most agile person. I am not strong enough to shatter the thick glass either. There are two ways out now. Up the stairs to the IT rooms, or out the doors to the hallway. Both are blocked by the ball of light, so I cannot choose either. I am trapped.

The ball stretches upwards, becoming flat and tall, not unlike an oval mirror. The surface seems to become semi-transparent, showing the other side of the wall clearly. As I watch, static flickers across the layer facing me, distorting the image into something it is not. I cannot see clearly through this portal, as I believe it to be, and therefore ignore my basic flight-or-fight responses to bend closer to the apparition, examining the contours and mystical abilities of the feature. Unfortunately, it is a bad idea to lean too far forward, especially if one is as curvy as I (I hesitate to use the word ‘fat’. While I admit that a fair amount of weight loss would be a good course of action for one such as me, I do not believe myself to be fat, exactly.). I overbalance and, having no way to stop myself from falling at such short notice and for such a short time, tip head-first into the portal and black out.