I look out at the packed cafeteria, briefly allowing myself to sink into the dozens of thoughts and waves of emotion. My connection to them all is my only link to whatever humanity I have left.
However petty Johanna Sachs’ mind may be, she still has something I don’t.
Sighing, I rest my chin on the table and try to appreciate the light show. A wide array of aura colors glow all around the place, sometimes lightening, darkening, even changing to a completely different color. You know, it’s always funny seeing an aura that doesn’t match the person’s facial expression. It happens quite often, actually. A little tinge of sorrow within someone’s smile in conversation with another, a little gentle pain in their squinting eyes while their aura glows a miserable, drained pink. If I were still human, I’d almost feel sorry.
I look down at my homework again and feel conflicted. My brain has recently reached an almost lightning speed of function—a question is answered before even fathoming it entirely, an action executed only a fraction of a second after deciding on it. I’ve been afraid to look at my math homework for two weeks.
It’s getting more and more difficult to avoid the shortcuts.
Grumbling, I shove the worksheet back into my backpack and bury my head in my hands. The bell is going to ring in four seconds.
Four, three, two—
I stand up and attempt to look as disappointed as the rest of them. I drag my feet and relax my bones, but the deliberate slow in my gait is almost painful; annoying, even. Another irregularity in my body I have to get used to: the constant urge to keep moving. Twitching, shifting, wanting to go out and kill something. Physically I feel like demolishing a tank; mentally I’m perpetually exhausted.