She knows. He knows. They all know.
Jamie walked past the crowds of people. It was a difficult thing to do. Their eyes bored into hers; accusing, deceptive, incredulous. Jamie walked as fast as she could, without running.
Jamie faced her locker when the bell had rang. Now, there was no one to face. She would surely be in trouble for being late, but it didn't matter. Jamie cautiously opened her locker, as if waiting for something to jump out.
Inside. Inside was a single black rose. Prickly thorns adorned the stem. Black.
Black represented death.
Maybe, that was the reason why there happened to be formaldehyde in the room that she had previously used. She had escaped, of course, thanks to her sensitive nose. But she was close.
The others were just as close.
Jamie grabbed the rose, ignoring the pain the thorns caused, and threw it into the nearby bin. It missed. A few centimetres off. Of course.
Jamie grabbed her necessary books, closed her locker with a slam, and walked quickly towards her classroom.
Damn them all.
The countdown had begun: 81 days to live.
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