The air was thick with concentration.
The soft scratching of pencils and pens, the faint sound of pages turning, and the subtle squeak of chairs wove a tapestry of melody in the hushed sanctuary.
A palpable tension hung over the hall.
The invigilators' footsteps echoed as they paced the aisles, a constant reminder of the tickling clock, pushing everyone to write just a little bit faster.
Her pen scrawled across the paper aimlessly.
With brows slightly furrowed, she kept her gaze locked on the stark white pages before her.... her shoulders tensed....
Hunched over their desks, her classmates wrestled with their thoughts, furiously scribbling down on the pages.
Her pen remained motionless in hand...not a word written...
Lyraea's gaze drifted to the sizable clock, dominating a significant portion of the wall it hung on. Her eyes met the clock's impassive face ... the time seemed to hesitate, the ticking hands faltering in their relentless march forward.
Like an embrace, relief's soft whisper caressed her soul...." Only sixty minutes more...." A finite stretch of time to endure....
"Only sixty minutes!!!...."
Like a moonlit shadow, a nameless sorrow crept in, veiling her heart with melancholy hue. While the hourglass of her mind overflowed with grains of anxiety for only sixty minutes remained.
A wave of frustration washed over her. Why couldn't she focus? Why did the words elude her. The pressure was suffocating. She could feel her heart pounding, each beat echoing in her ears like a drum.
The clock's ticking pulse, a steady, relentless beat, seemed to mock her racing thoughts. Each tick was reminder of her failure, a taunt that she couldn't escape.
'Time hurries as desired, but with it, moments vain.'
It simultaneously echoed with the conflicting desires of her soul, a poignant reminder that time, like a life itself, is a precious, finite gift. She wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything to release the pent-up emotions swirling inside her.
Her classmates soft murmur was the only thing that punctuated the silence, yet their whispers failed to echo through her reverie, to bring a stop to her inner strife. She was trapped in her own mind, unable to reach out for help.
But no, that tender touch on her shoulder did...
The gentle pressure of Mrs. Jonathan's hand broke the spell of her introspection, bringing her back from her choppy waters of emotions to a safe harbor.
"Lyraea?...Is everything ok?"
Her eyes, transfixed on the wall clock, fluttered towards Mrs. Jonathan.
' Was it? ' No.... it wasn't.
The turbulent sea of her emotions was not calm. Like relentless waves, they furiously crashed aganist the shores of her soul. Each surge carrying the weight of anger and despair, carving deep impressions on the sand of her existence. She was drowning, unable to keep her head above water.
Silence....
The hall fell silent for the first time in two hours. She did not need to turn around to know her classmates' faces were etched with shock, gloating, mocking, sympathy and jealousy.
She knew them too well, for she was once one of them.
"Looks like the queen bee is finally falling off her thrown." Someone snickered.
"Karma has finally got her." Another one chimed in.
"I can't believe it. She has always been so on top of things."
"...and might I add .... so full of herself, huh!"
The sneers and scoffs were like a slap in the face. She felt the sting of pain coursing through her heart and soul. Each word was a dagger, cutting dep into her already fragile psyche.
"... Girls!"
Mrs. Jonathan calm yet firmed voice broke the chatter. Her eyes scanned the hall and the students' buzz fell silent. Her gaze shifted and her eyes met Lyraea Pastorio's. Her once-confident demeanor had given way to vulnerability and desperation, a stark contrast to her former self.
The dynamics of heart had already shifted but Lyraea Pastorio refused to let anyone have the last laugh at her expense. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her break.
A deep breath, followed by a gentle nod....
Lyraea forced a weak smile to the woman beside her. She averted her gaze and put her arm over her paper, an attempt to hide the empty sheets. The shame of her blank pages was almost to much to bear.
Before Mrs. Jonathan could utter another word, Lyraea dropped her eyes back to her paper and made another failed attempt to complete it. Her hand trembled as she tried to write, the words blurring before her eyes.
As she began to write, she felt the cold...the bloody chills running down her spin, giving her goosebumps. Her hand stopped, paralysing, a cold grip that refused to let go.
And then, ...the blood came.
A single drop of blood, at first, landed on her paper, followed by another, ...and another one. Her mind reeled with confusion and fear as she stared at the crimson red spots.
"Lyraea, what's wrong?"
Mrs. Jonathan's voice reached her ear, but Lyraea couldn't respond.
She sat there.... immobilized by terror, eyes fixed on the blood.
The blood began to spread, forming a dark stain on her paper.
And then, it happened.
The words on her paper began to change, twisting into grotesques....
Symbols.... that seemed to pulse with a life of their own.
Lyraea's heart hammered against her ribcage, her breath caught in her throat. She felt like she was drowning in fear and uncertainty. The symbols seemed to mock her, their twisted forms, a reminder of her downfall.
"I ... I think my nose is bleeding, excuse me!" Lyraea's voice trembled as she put her hand under her nose and hastily stood up.
But before she could take a step forward, Mrs. Jonathan's hand shot out, grasping her arm. She turned Lyraea to face her, her expression turning a mix of concern and alarm.
Lyraea tried to pull away, only for Mrs. Jonathans grip on her arm to tighten.
Lyraea's emotions were raw and volatile, like a live wire sparking with electricity. The way Lyraea's confidence and composure could crumble in an instant, leaving her vulnerable and shaken... Mrs. Jonathan had not seen that before.
She hesitated, her hand lingering on Lyraea's arm for a moment before releasing it.
Lyraea was on the verge of unraveling...
Mrs. Jonathan didn't try to touch her again.
Lyraea had terrified her.....
Lyraea's gaze darted wildly from corner to corner, her chest heaved with ragged breaths, her face pale and clammy. Her eyes flashed with fear, panic, and a hint of desperation...
She dashed out of the room, running wildly, her feet pounding the floor, as if trying to outrun her own emotions.
" What's going on with her? Is she ok?"
" What else just to gain attention. Poor her couldn't even do that..."
" I heard she has been going through a tough time at home..."
As the 'news' spread, the hall became a hub of gossip and speculations. She could hear the voices behind her. It was nave of her to think that they would stop.
So, she ran faster to escape, her head buzzed with thoughts of hiding, of finding a refuge from the turmoil that was consuming her. Her breath came in short gasps, her heart palpitated with fear.
She burst through the doors, into the hallway, and kept running, her emotions raw and exposed. She was a fragile, vulnerable, desperate to escape the emotional storm that was raging within her.
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The door to the washroom burst opened....
She stumbled inside, her chest heaving with exertion, her eyes frantically scanning the room for a place to hide.
But her actions halted in the very next second....
She had run in here seeking solitude, a brief respite from the prying eyes and whispered gossips of hallway.
But instead, she found herself face to face with a crowd of students, their conversations falling silent at her abrupt entrance.
Those startled gazes were fixed on her...
For a moment, she stood there frozen, her eyes wide with panic, her posture stiffed.....
Their faces were twisted with schadenfreude. The weight of their stares was like a force, pressing down on her. Her cheeks flushed crimson. She felt like a spectacle, every move being magnified and dissected.
She shifted her weight from foot to foot.
'Did they find out?... How?'
Lyraea's mind raced with thoughts of embarrassment and shame. She wanted to melt into the walls... into the floor, disappear from the suffocating scrutiny.
She needed to hide... now!!!
Her eyes swept around the room, taking in the hushed whispers and pointing fingers.
'There it is.'
Her gaze fell to an empty cubicle at the far end of the room.
Just a few steps....
She just needed to muster the courage to take a few steps, and she would reach there. Despite the turmoil within she moved forward.
Keeping her hand firmly over her nose, she pretended as if she did not hear the snickers and jeers being thrown at her.
But her body language betrayed her distress. She had hunched her shoulders, her head bowed, her eyes cast downward to avoid eye contact. Her feet moved swiftly, as if trying to escape the ridicule, her one arm wrapped around her body, as if shielding herself from the cruel words, the other one twitched against her face, trying to keep her facade.
Her hands trembled as she reached for the door handle, her fingers closing around it like a lifeline. She pulled the door open with a jerky motion.
"Look at her over there, she is sick again." She heard someone from behind.
"She is not sick, she is mentally ill." Another one sneered, pointing.
"Guess what? The administrative had already called her aunt for a meeting, due to her strange behavior. The principal and school nearly expelled her because of her mental issues."
"It's heartbreaking, really. She's trying to hold it together, but it's been tough on her."
"How is she pretending everything is fine?... It's almost laughable."
Their voice barely audible, pierced through Lyraea's fragile composure. Her trembling hand hovered over the door handle, her resolve waning....
She was desperate to escape the judgmental eyes, the whispers that sliced through her like shards of glass.
The crowd outside wasn't curious or concerned. No, they reveled in her dismay. Their laughter echoed, a cruel symphony of mockery. They pointed fingers, their faces twisted with glee. To them, she was entertainment—a spectacle to be ridiculed.
Lyraea's psychology screamed survival. Fight or flight...
But she couldn't fight them all, and flight seemed impossible. So, she moved forward, her legs heavy, her heart heavier. Her vision blurred...
The door closed behind her, it groaned in protest. The metal latch clicking into place, a finality that echoed in her ears, muffling the laughter.