CIRCLES

Breathe (In The Air)

She breathes.

In, out. In, out. Haggard, desperate breaths slow and give way to a shaky, yet consistent rhythm.

Her hand slowly slides to her waist. None of the pain that once rendered her senses a red, searing haze remains, and more importantly, viscera no longer spills from her shattered form. She hears the faint crinkle of paper as she tentatively pats her side, before reaching for her face. No cuts. No gelatinous matter spilling from her shattered skull.

Her hands shake as she pushes them down behind her, sitting up and getting a slightly better look of her surroundings. Not that there is exactly much to see, admittedly. She sits in an inky abyss. Her body is lit with an even, dim light of unknown origin. The 'ground' is cold, uncomfortably so, solid and smooth against her skin, not unlike tile.

The horrifying realisation that this is the afterlife soon dawns on Claire. Absolute, unfiltered terror grips her for an instant-

"Dearest Claire."

-only to be almost immediately replaced by a colder fear.

"Though I sense your bewilderment, understand now: The moment we are party to is, most regrettably, restricted."

Ahead of her, the darkness ripples, concentric echoes distorting. The head of a serpent breaches the dark in front of her. The splash makes no sound as more of its body emerges. Pure white, its shiny, rippling body shines in the dimness. Its movements are choppy, not quite smooth - something remarkably akin to the movements of clay animation.

"Eyes scrutinise the Grid, venerated Claire. The lifeless covet the living. You shan't find a peaceful haven here."

What she can see of the serpent remains quite a bit taller than her, its long, jagged maw is curled into a grin. It peers at her from a slight angle, letting her observe one of its sunken, jet-black eyes, contrasted against the void only by a slight sheen. Two rib-like appendages hang slightly below its head.

"This is all I can arrange. A chorus of viscera and pulsating organs is not yet to be your fate."

"What?!" Claire splutters, fear now contorting into confusion.

"Rise." Its voice is light.

Claire slowly rises to her feet, eyes never leaving the serpent.

"This condemned institution was contrived atop the accursed and impure. Screaming pulsating masses writhe and contort as ink flows and fibres consolidate. Most deplorable disarray. Recognize this, esteemed Claire. Seek it. Understand it. Our hopes of survival rest upon your success."

She feels an immense sense of vertigo. The serpent's visage spins as the dark once more consumes her vision.

"Go with grace."

Her vision goes white. As the light resolves itself, she stands at the entrance to Paper School, hands on her backpack straps. A light breeze rustles the apple trees bordering the school grounds as the sounds of conversation reach her from just inside the school.

A conversation she'd heard last morning. Abbie, wiping tears from his eyes, speaking to Lana.

"I think today will be better."

Images of Abbie's broken body, legs severed, skull split, bite marks leaving primal, jagged cuts through what remained of his face, fill her head. She has to look down, holding back a sob. Pencils jammed into Lana's head, one right through her iris, a blank expression on her severed head lying ahead of a mauled body. She wants to run and scream at them to get out, but she knows she'd just look insane.