My life was boring. Absolutely and completely event-less.
Well, I thought so until today's English lesson. It was poetry, which I hated because it was completely not my forte, and I couldn't care less about whether To His Coy Mistress was in rhyming couplets or not.
My teacher, whose name I never really knew, was going on about how to answer an exam question on language - something which I already knew, as he'd explained it about fifty times - when there was a chorus of screams from outside.
Annoyed, Sir slammed the interactive white board pen down onto my front-row desk and stormed out of the room, probably to yell at whoever was making the unnecessary noise.
What we heard from inside the classroom was rather unusual for the situation. A lot of yelling... "Dear God, no..." The sound of running, something being dragged, a struggle and finally a gurgled, choking scream.
We all looked at each other, shocked and alarmed. What was going on? I got up to go and look outside, when the door was flung open and in walked our teacher. There was blood soaking into his shirt and his skin had become much paler.
"Sir..." I said. He looked up at me, revealing a huge gap in the front of his neck where something had torn away the skin. Behind me, someone threw up audibly, and everyone else stifled shrieks of horror.
He started reaching out towards us, and it was a few seconds passed before people started running. I was one of the first to get out, and was jabbing furiously at the lift button. Who cares if it was a disabled lift? There was a... something trying to get us!
Our now bloodless teacher came out onto the corridor and I ducked around a corner. He didn't notice me and went upstairs. I breathed a huge sigh of relief as the lift doors opened and dashed inside. The light in the lift was pathetic, but at least it wasn't too dark. That would've been bad. Who knows what could've happened?
The doors opened again, and after seeing what was going on, I pulled the girl trying to escape. No way was I going to watch my English teacher massacre some innocent girl.
The girl in question screamed as soon as she entered the confined space and the doors shut.
"Shush," I told her. "It's safer in here."
Because that was going to work with someone who was evidently very seriously claustrophobic.
On the next floor, the lift doors wouldn't open. Claustrophobic girl panicked and began hammering at the metal as if she was expecting it to open that way.
I sighed. "You can't get out. Haven't you ever been stuck in a lift before?"
She turned to me, venom glare. "I've never been in a lift before!"
I frowned. "Everyone's been in a lift before."
Oh yeah. I changed the subject. "What's your name?"
"Rhubarb," she said, still intent on bashing the doors in. "What's yours?"
Rhubarb? That's a weird name. Awesome! "Funnel- I mean, Bernadette. Berny for short."
The doors opened. We were on the roof, which was somewhere I didn't even know the lift went.
Rhubarb rushed out, and I didn't bother telling her to be careful because I doubted she'd be listening. Instead, I inspected her.
Our hair was quite similar in the fact that it was dyed a bright colour. Although her hair was bright red, and done very well. Mine, on the other hand, was bright purple. Various shades, in fact, making my head resemble a patchwork quilt because I was that bad at dying my hair. Plus, I had gone so long without bothering to re-dye it that about three inches of my natural yellow-blonde roots were clearly visible.
I was wearing a skirt and a top. And my dad's coat. I liked wearing Dad's clothes because they were more comfortable. Men's clothes, I found, were always more comfortable than those made for females.
Rhubarb was dressed... oddly. Black made up the entirety of her outfit, and she had these boots... I wasn't even going to go into it. Saying that, with my patchwork hair and oversized jacket, I did remind myself of a scarecrow.
"Hey, Rhubarb!" I called and walked up to her.
"Has my teacher turned into a zombie?"