"He was burned alive..."
At that time, he was walking, ignoring people like he usually did. They passed by, some whispering, others sneering, but he had grown used to it. It was the way people treated him, even his family. His home, the one place where he should have felt safe, was just as cold as the streets outside. His father barely acknowledged him, and his siblings were either distant or too caught up in their own lives to care. He was a loner, always had been. Independent, yes, but that didn't stop the feeling of being a loser from creeping into his thoughts, nor did it ease the sting of knowing everyone else saw him the same way.
But then, amidst the usual silence of his walk, something grabbed his attention—loud enough to cut through his spiraling thoughts. A group of students, clustered by the side of the road, were talking in hushed voices. Their conversation was sharp, full of disbelief and terror.
"Did you hear? A man… burned alive right down the street near the school," one of them said, voice trembling with a mix of fear and fascination.
"What kind of sick joke is that?" another chimed in.
"No joke," the first one replied, her voice lowering. "They say it happened just after midnight. The flames were so intense, people thought it was a building on fire, but no... it was just him. He just... burned, like that."
His steps slowed, curiosity pulling him in. The words hung in the air, heavy and surreal. The image of a man burning alive, gruesome and terrifying, lingered in his mind. He couldn't shake the thought of it, and the more he thought, the more something gnawed at the back of his mind. There was something familiar about this story, something that twisted in his gut.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, the screen lighting up as he unlocked it. His fingers trembled as he scrolled through his social media feed, desperately looking for confirmation of what he'd just overheard. And there it was. News outlets had already picked up the story—reports of a man's brutal death, engulfed in flames while walking down the street.
His heart skipped a beat. The man who had burned alive wasn't just any stranger. It was him. The man who had betrayed him. The same person who had crushed his trust and left him feeling like a worthless shadow.
Confusion swirled in his head, clouds of disbelief closing in. How was this possible? He'd just written a story the night before. A story where he based a character on the very man who had hurt him. In the story, the character met a gruesome end, burned alive in a fire just like the one described in the news.
The unsettling thought echoed in his mind: I killed him in my story…
But this wasn't fiction. This was real.
He froze in his tracks, the weight of it pressing down on him. Could it be some kind of sick coincidence? No. The details were too precise, too chilling. The way the fire had started, the way the man had screamed... It mirrored everything he had written.
A chill ran through him. His breath caught in his throat. He didn't know what to think anymore, but one thing was clear: something was horribly wrong.
Without thinking, he turned on his heel and started walking briskly toward his house, his thoughts racing. He had to check something. There was no time to waste. The feeling of unease gnawed at him, urging him forward. What had happened to the man in his story…? Could it have really happened to the man in his life?
He pushed through the front door as quickly as he could. His family was all in their rooms, the house eerily quiet. Without hesitation, he went straight to his desk, fumbling for the notebook he had been writing in just hours before. He flipped through the pages, his heart pounding as his eyes scanned the lines.
There it was. His words, written in the same dark, twisted tone he always used to vent his anger. And right there, in the story's final pages, the man he had based the character on had met his end. Burned alive.
But what made his blood run cold wasn't just that. It was the last line he had written.
The flames consumed him entirely, and when it was over, nothing was left but the faint smell of smoke and the bitter taste of regret.
He closed the notebook, his hands shaking uncontrollably.
What have I done?
One month ago, on the day of the announcement of the science fair event called The Nexus of Discovery.
This rarely happened. Well, the school had never organized events since the principal had been replaced. Many of the students lived to complain about everything; in return, the old principal had sold them out.
A man ryker had never seen before sat perched on the adviser's chair, his face expression completely neutral, like a black canvas as if it could be a fresh work of art.
He then sat on his designated chair, secretary. Ryker's peace was disputed when he was elected to be a secretary in the student council; if only he could burn down the whole school, he probably wouldn't do it; instead, he would write it in his story and perform a ritual just to be sure it would happen. What an odd habit he has, writing a story while he will base the characters off of a person he hates; then he would kill it off in a most gruesome way. That could tell how much he despised humans. Something he's been keeping, he hates everyone.
Including himself.
The murmur of students faded to a hush as the anonymous man in charge of the student council stepped up to the podium. His presence commanded attention, not through charisma, but through a kind of quiet authority that had become rare since the new principal's arrival.
The man adjusted his glasses, his gaze scanning the crowd. "Good morning, everyone," he began, his tone steady and deliberate. "I know it's been a while since we've had anything… beyond the ordinary to look forward to. But today, I'm pleased to announce something I hope will reignite the spark that once made this school special."
Ryker straightened slightly, a flicker of curiosity crossing his otherwise indifferent face.
"For the first time in years," the man continued, "we are bringing back one of the most beloved traditions of this school, the Science Fair."
A ripple of whispers passed through the room. Some students exchanged surprised glances, while others looked downright skeptical. Ryker raised an eyebrow but stayed silent.
"I know what some of you might be thinking," the man said with a faint smile. "It's been a long time since we've had anything like this. But that's exactly why we need it now. The fair will give you all a chance to showcase your creativity, your skills, and your ideas. More importantly, it's a chance for us to rebuild the spirit of this school, one step at a time."
Ryker's eyes narrowed as the man's words sank in. He didn't consider himself the type to care about "school spirit," but something about the announcement tugged at him.
"As members of this school community," the man concluded, "I challenge you to participate. Whether it's a groundbreaking experiment or a simple project with a lot of heart, every contribution matters. Let's make this fair a success, not just for the sake of tradition, but to show that this school still has something to offer."
Ryker remained seated, his bag untouched beside him. His mind wrestled with the idea of joining the science fair. Was it worth the trouble? He already knew the answer, or so he thought.
As the chatter dimmed, the man approached him. "Hey," he said, his voice calm yet insistent. "I'd like you to join this upcoming event, not just as part of the student council, but to represent yourself as a student of our beloved school."
Ryker stiffened, the words hitting a nerve. Beloved school? The phrase left a bitter taste in his mouth. All he could think about was the injustice: the students expelled for crimes they didn't commit, the cold bullying he'd endured for four years, and the silent halls where creativity had been strangled. He clenched his fists under the desk, his usual urge to curse the entire institution rising in his chest.
But there was something in the man's tone, something in the way he spoke, that made Ryker hesitate. It wasn't pity, nor was it some shallow attempt at motivation. It was as though this man knew something about him, something Ryker didn't want anyone to see. He lifted his gaze, his expression unreadable but his voice sharp. "I'm not cut out for this, sir. You don't know me well enough to make decisions for me. My apologies."
The anonymous man didn't flinch. Instead, as Ryker stood to leave, he reached out and gently grabbed his arm, pulling him slightly to the side.
"Wait," he said, his voice quieter but firm. "I already put your name on the list. But if you truly don't want to, you don't have to sign the form. Here." He handed Ryker a folded piece of paper. It was thin, unassuming, yet it felt heavier than anything Ryker had held before. He stared at it, a flicker of doubt crossing his face before he masked it again with indifference.
"This," the man continued, stepping back to give Ryker space, "is just an opportunity. What you do with it is up to you. But I think you'll find you're capable of far more than you believe. My name is Elias, by the way; you can ask for my help anytime."
Ryker didn't reply. His widened eyes, momentarily betraying his shock, quickly returned to their usual guarded state. He shoved the paper into his pocket, slung his bag over his shoulder, and strode out of the room without another word.
In the hallway, he slowed, pulling out the paper with a shaky hand. The words on it seemed simple—just a formal invitation to the science fair. But to Ryker, it was something far more dangerous. It was a chance to change everything.
And that terrified him.