Song: This is the Hunt by Ruelle
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Two months later
I hoist my backpack over my shoulder as I head out of my last class. The hallway is buzzing with students frantically calling their parents to come pick them up, and I quickly brush past them all.
Since I ride my bike to and from school every day, I don't need to be picked up. Maybe I'm one of the lucky ones, I think to myself. I push open the heavy door and step out into the chilly January air. There's a light breeze, and I keep constantly plucking strands of my blonde hair out of my face.
The school buses are lined up, but they all lack a driver. Last week a girl and her sister were murdered on the bus by a fellow student. Since then, most of the parents refused to let their children ride the buses anymore. And thus, for the time being, the buses are no longer under operation. I never rode the buses anyway, so it's no big deal for me; for other kids though, it caused major problems.
The eerie part is just the insane number of murders recently. It's as if every day dozens of innocent people are being murdered. Murder stories are the only thing on the news anymore. The adults, of course, blame it on some new horror movie that came out back in September. I, however, think there's something much more sinister going on. Especially since none of the murderers have been caught.
My mom keeps telling me not to worry, that we're safe because we live so far away from any cities. I can't help but worry, however. I'm constantly checking over my shoulder at school or sticking with a friend. I never even go anywhere near the bathrooms anymore.
I hop on my bicycle and head back home. The wind whips me in the face and is freezing, so I pull my scarf up over my nose. My legs burn as I pedal as fast as I can, eager to get home and crawl under a nice warm blanket with a cup of coffee and a good book.
Actually, the book I'm currently reading is one that my dad's obsessed with. It's a little bit edgy, and a little bit political - just the way I like it. It braves the topic of overpopulation like I've never seen before, painting colorful images of every possible scenario that could happen in order to control the epidemic. The book makes me feel safe, for some reason: prepared, almost. It makes me feel ready to take on any situation involving population control. For once, it feels like one aspect of my life is in order.
And with everything that's been going on, I'm happy to greet even just the simple idea of "order" like an old friend.
Several cars pass me by, each driver taking a moment to glance out his window and give me a pointed look. When I first started going to and from school on my own, the looks drivers gave me used to make me nervous for some reason. I knew they were judging me, and I didn't like it. Now, however, I'm used to it. Of course, they're still probably judging me, but I just don't care at this point. And sometimes, not caring is a good thing.
I turn down the familiar dirt road leading to my home. Dust from the dry dirt flies in every direction, and I find myself squinting in hopes of keeping it out of my eyes. A large black car darts past me, and I hold my breath as I attempt to not inhale every single dust particle that was just spewed in my face.
I swerve right and left in order to avoid large rocks and holes that are in the same spot every day. I don't even have to think about it anymore, it just happens: right, left, right, left, left.
