Outside the class, they saw the same thing happening to the other students. Ms. Johnson was standing and thinking of what possible way to help the remaining students to run. She was then pushed by the other students who ran out of fear. They were running towards the school entrance.
Ms. Johnson then saw that Jason was still there standing alone, looking as if he cannot process what was happening. She ran and went straight to Jason trying to bring him away from the danger zone. She sees Billy behind of Jason and pushed him away from Billy. Now Ms. Johnson was the one being attacked by Billy. "Run Jason... Run!" said Ms. Johnson.
The school emptied faster than a sandcastle at high tide. Teachers, students, everyone fled, leaving behind a trail of discarded backpacks, half-eaten lunches, and a growing sense of dread. Jason, forgotten amidst the chaos, remained. He was alone, a lone shadow in the deserted corridors, the echoes of screams and panicked shouts still ringing in the air.
He then found himself drawn to the library, a sanctuary of quiet amidst the pandemonium. Dust motes danced in the slivers of sunlight piercing through grimy windows. As he explored, a strange sensation washed over him – a feeling of déjà vu, so intense it made his skin crawl. It was as if he had walked these very halls before, experienced this very sense of isolation, smelled this same metallic tang in the air.
He stumbled upon a hidden alcove behind a towering bookshelf, a secret chamber filled with forgotten treasures – old maps, dusty journals, and a collection of faded comic books. One particular comic, its cover depicting a grotesque, rotting figure, caught his eye. As he thumbed through the pages, a chilling realization dawned on him.
The artwork, crude yet strangely familiar, depicted a world ravaged by a disease, a lone boy struggling to survive in a desolate
landscape. But as he delved deeper, he noticed a chilling detail. The boy in the comic, the one who bore an uncanny resemblance to him, had a birthmark on his left forearm – a small, crescent-shaped mark. Jason, with a jolt of icy dread, looked down at his own arm. There, on his left forearm, was the same crescent-shaped birthmark.