A Surge of Green

ore beginning her lecture on grammar and sentence structure. It’s enough familiarity to take the edge off the killer-headache I’ve still got going on from last perio

est way to kill off the urges was to just go with the flow. Eventually, my body will calm an

iod, but the prospect of Choir and getting the chance to sing my problems away wins. Again, I’m out of the room almost as soon as the bell rings, taking the back

friend places her hands on my shoulders as I teeter to a stop - almost mowing her down in the process - but sh

Not when all I can smell is the lingering blood in the air. I’d bet my life she was just blushing, not five seconds ago

place, I drop my bag by my feet and dive to retrieve my Choir binder from last year. Mrs. Jones takes her position at the front of the arc-risers and taps her baton impatiently on her podium. “Let’s warm up.” She announces before diving into a preset list of scales and short hymns before launching us

eep flush over her face. She wipes at the hint of sweat on her forehead, taking large gulps of air in between drinks of water from her backpack. The cloying scent of blood at the surface of human skin mixed with fresh sw

st her skin, focusing on the galloping thump-thump-thump of her blood as i

e to face me. I’m just as baffled as the rest of them, wondering why I’m the one being singled out for a solo warm up. Mrs. Jones has singled me out before - but only when I’ve been messing around or when I first transferred to K

ir. Mrs. Jones watches me the entire time, her eyes locked on mine and holding them captive until I’ve compl

link stupidly at her before the tiniest smile settles over my mouth. I’m too stunned to reply, and she doesn’t re

s filled with annoyance, I can tell by her words that she’s actually not all that mad at us. But the way she says things is like

mp through the line in the cafeteria, collecting the normal human-portions without a word to each other. My mind’s so focused on getting through the stifling line that I forget myself and stumble ov

d speed. I reach out to catch her, her arms too busy with trying to right the tipped tray of food, that I know she won’t have the foresight to catch herself

of honey only to find it tensing around you the deeper you go. Everything slows to a crawl, even the beating of my heart, as I reach for Darine. Her eyes are wide with a mix of fear and surpris

he ground. There’s a second of burning, stinging on the left side of my face