Wiviah - They Say He's Possessed

Chapter 1: Would you like to eat too?

"Sis!! I'm late!!!"

The boy's voice echoed through the room as he struggled with his shoelaces, fingers fumbling in panic.

The door flew open. His sister stood there, already holding his lunchbox. She crossed the room in quick strides, shoved it into the backpack lying on the table, slung the bag over one shoulder, and pressed it into his hands.

"I tried waking you up. Why did you fall asleep again?"

"I'm late, I'm late, I'm late," he muttered like a spell as he bolted out of the room and took the stairs two at a time.

He never reached the bottom.

His foot slipped. For a split second, there was weightlessness, then the sharp thud of bone against wood. He slid down the steps and landed hard on his knees.

The pain came late, blooming slow and hot. When he looked down, his left knee was already red, blood tracing thin lines across his skin. He grabbed it instinctively, breath hitching.

Then he felt it.

Someone watching.

He turned his head toward the kitchen.

His mother stood there, her hands busy with something on the counter. Their eyes met. Not for long. She looked away almost immediately, as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn't seen him at all.

The boy said nothing.

Footsteps rushed behind him. His sister was already kneeling at his side.

"Does it hurt? Wait! don't move, I'll get the first-aid box."

"No," he said quickly. "I'm okay. Just... just a Band-Aid."

"Look at it," she whispered, her face paling. "It's bleeding."

He glanced at his knee again, then up at her, and smiled - small, crooked, almost proud.

"It doesn't hurt," he said. "And anyway... I think this is good."

She blinked. "Good?"

"Yeah." He leaned back slightly, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret.

"Now I have an excuse to be late."

She stared at him for a second, then flicked his forehead lightly.

"Dummy."

He adjusted his clothes and ran out of the house; a small Band-Aid stuck crookedly to his knee. His black hair was already a mess from the fall, strands refusing to stay in place no matter how many times he brushed them back.

At school, he slowed down.

He gently pushed the classroom door open, just enough to peek inside. He had barely leaned in when - 

"Don't you know what time the class starts?"

The teacher's voice cut through the room.

Caught.

He stepped inside properly this time, closing the door behind him. With his head lowered, he bowed slightly.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said. "On my way to school, I got into a small accident. That's why I'm late. I promise it won't happen again."

The teacher's eyes moved briefly - from the boy's disheveled hair to the Band-Aid on his knee.

There was a pause.

"Fine," the teacher said at last. "Be careful next time. Now sit down."

Without waiting for a reply, he turned back to the blackboard and continued writing, chalk scraping softly against it.