Webs

It was cloudy. The sky outside the classroom window was nothing  but a never-ending field of white.
It had been one of those days that would sooner or later vanish in the haze, in order to make room for some happy memories. I would not consider myself as unhappy, but, when I think of school days,  I solely remember a window to a sun that would never shine. But then, as I try to recall, voices slowly rise from the background, talking about things I would never listen to.
Once, a voice became loud enough to be understood. It tried to  talk to me, like a cruel kid that destroys the cocoon of a butterfly. A brown-haired girl I knew from the countless days of white sky, asked me to do her a favour. She assured me, it wasn't a big thing, really. I turned to her, mirroring her sunshine-smile as best as I could, and replied: ''Of course. What else are friends for?''  She hid her confusion about this answer very well, nevertheless I knew she was. Anyway, she said thanks, but before she could continue her spiel, I asked her casually, ''I mean, you would do me a favour too, wouldn't you?'' Now a shadow of confusion swished over her round, childish face. She  confirmed my statement, I let a grateful: ''Of course you would,'' follow. Keeping my disarming expression, I acted my last move out. ''Then do me the favour not to ask me to do you any favours.''
As if she could not believe what I had just clearly expressed, she stood there for a glimpse of time,  subsequently expressed her apologetic comprehension  and continued forward. She would not talk to me anymore.
People call me selfish. But after long years of white sky and time to think about what I was labeled as, I actually found this term quite subjective. You say I am selfish; I say I prioritize. People would not understand my attitude, and therefore I had been abandoned by them, like a ghost on a decaying planet. And I was somehow grateful, I mean, I had what I wanted.
As the girl went back to her seat, I let my gaze follow her. Her seat was on the opposite side of my far too small classroom. My room, before it had become mine, had been the Chemistry storing room and was still referred to by its inhabitants as ''The Closet''. My beloved principal had changed it to my classroom due to the ridiculous need of space my school was facing. The walls were clean, sterile white. So, in the rare occasion that sun would enter here, the room turned into a blinding flash of light. The only thing you could do, in order to keep your good eyesight, was to focus on the dark green blackboard, the blackboard was centuries old, it seemed. It had cracks on its lower right, whether they resulted from age or students I did not know. On the opposite corner there was a strange, crusty spot, God knows what it was, having managed to successfully resist the various attempts  to remove it. The floor was some kind of sick blue linoleum, that should have been removed decades ago. My desk, the only one desk in the room I had roughly fought for, had nearly the same colour as the walls, just a hint more greyish than the walls. In summer, this classroom was my personal school-version of the 'Atacama' desert, only without the lizards. Okay, some people in my class bore an odd resemblance to lizards. Maybe they had adapted to their new environment. Evolution surely is a creepy thing.
When the girl had took  her seat, she started to talk to her neighbour, a handsome soccer player. As far as I was concerned about the relationships in our class, I knew they were a couple. She was the class representative, nice to everybody, can I help you there? He was the boyfriend of a pink teenager's dream: caring for Her and only Her. The way he held her hand stroking it, made it easy for me to picture him standing on her porch with a bunch of the most perfect white roses for their anniversary. He was so sick.
Trying to get away from this disease, I focused on another person, who was as unlikely as me to ever be engaged in a situation as the Girl`s. She was a myopic Nerd, milennia old in her knowledge of the supernatural. If my old friend, the White Sky, became too boring to listen to, I would turn on her, asking questions like ''What is a kitsune?''
It is a japanese fox spirit, by the way. Guardian of the barrier between this and the other world.
But as she went on with her speech about some Norse god, named Loki, I found that I could no longer listen. Instead a little spider  made its way from her desk to mine immediately captured my attention. Frail little thing it was, I could imagine it having a long walk before getting home and having lunch, as  I often did. It would have some insect, I would guess, but I am not an expert in arachnean nutrition.
On it went with its steady eight-legged march, like in a parade all for its own. Tip-tap, tip-tap, tip-tap, tip-tap- RING! I was rudely awoken by a ringing bell, which pre-announced the end of the break. There was a second bell ring some minutes later, but many teachers gladly mistook the first bell for the start of the class. Can anybody imagine how much break-time these people would steal away from me? 2h a month. It is ridiculous.
My next teacher was, of course, one of these individuals who were so eager to get the stuff they were teaching into the reluctant heads of their students, so that they gratefully took the opportunity of 2 minutes of extra class. To my mind, those individuals were fighting a lost battle against the zombification of the students, which had infected even the people at the Academic High Schools. But maybe it was just an increasing uselessness of the stuff, I was taught. I mean, who on earth needs Trigonometry? Anyways, 2 minutes before the actual beginning of the class, the teacher walked in and began to unpack his brand-new Spanish books, his raggy leather pencil case, that had been painted all over, and, finally, a red plastic box that contained several colours of chalk. Each teacher had to bring his or her own chalk, if he or she wanted to use other colours than white. The daily ritual of  unpacking was my signal to dedicate my attention to something else than him. I looked for my tiny little spider but unfortunately I could not find it anymore. Maybe it was having lunch right now.
The lesson passed quickly and without any disturbances by the teacher.
I used to spend nearly every lesson like that and, as a result, my grades were not the best. But I did not care, I already had a High School Diploma for a lower school since grade 10. Now, in my final year,  I still had no idea what I should do after school, I would see what the future had to offer. My mother would urge me at any opportunity to ''look for somethin'''. I would always tell her that one day I would find something. And what would I do 'til this day was there, she would ask me. Not knowing what to say, I would lock myself up in my room. Some teachers confirmed that I had some writing talent, so maybe I could use that and become a journalist or something like that. I had no idea yet.
And, once more with feeling, the bell rang. Hurrying, I collected my books, pencil case and loose-leaf. My bus would depart in 4 minutes and it took 5 to at least reach the bus stop, if one were walking in a normal tempo. I grabbed my bag, sat on the table and swung my legs above it in a single, routine movement, which could have looked cool if it had been done in an action flick. Once I was over the barricade of desk, I gained speed and was out of ''The Closet'' before anybody else could block my way. Then I had to climb two levels of dark stairs to get down to the exit. When I stepped out of the building, my eyes were blinded by the increase of light. Within the school there had been darkness, friendly, embracing darkness, but outside... Everything was hostile, bright all of a sudden.  I had to close my eyes immediately, for they were stung and now watering. By the time I was finished with High School once and for all, my eyes would have gone white due to this lack of UV-rays. And I would probably lick my eyes with my tongue to moisten them, too.
Running nearly blind from tears for the first ten seconds outside, I tried as best as possible to avoid obstacles such as the red brick miniature circus near the exit in the schoolyard fence, upstanding brick stones on the floor of the yard and students who were not fast enough to get out of my way. By the time I could see again I had received a bruise on my thigh from hitting the circus and an elbow-check by some 7th-grader. Once I considered the risk of hitting something as ruled out, I sped up to maximum tempo. The first 30 metres I felt like I was flying past everything else with superhuman speed, my feet as light if they were not there. Then I started to note an increasing pain in my lungs, together with shortness of breath. My feet were not light anymore; every step I took seemed to boost the weight of the iron clumps I was carrying. Only willpower kept me running now. By the time I finally arrived at the bus stop, I was so fatigued, that I claimed one of the disgustingly dirty seats. All I could think of was breathing. My lungs could not get enough oxygen for my blood, that seemed to travel through far too small veins(, Closet-veins, if you will). My limbs were aching with a kind of numb sting, that came and left with the rhythm of my flittering pulse. Every panting breath was painful.
I did not have much time left to recover until the bus came. It was a public transit bus, sponsored by the public services of my city. The buses carried their logo, which in turn was held by a bunch of smiling businesspeople. The bus' interiors were renewed every couple of years, and I had the luck to catch one of the finest specimens. These buses had newer looking seats and, what was more important, more seats than the older ones. In my current condition I would not be able to stand half an hour in a moving vehicle. Still panting, I hurried towards a free double seat, sat on the one next to the window and placed my bag on the remaining. Placing a bag on the other seat was commonly used to indicate that one wanted to be left alone. Not only me, the ''selfish'' girl, would do that. Nearly every other young adult at my age did the same. I closed my eyes and recovered the rest of my remaining breath.
The sky grew suspiciously dark grey. Now I remembered that it had even smelled like rain on the way to the bus stop, but I had simply been too distracted by the results of my murderous 300-metres-run to notice the difference in the air. I sighed. Late October was awful rainy and it would not become any better before next April. What was called snow in other countries, just did not figure that it should freaking stay white and pretty and not change into a grey mess, the instant it came down above my country. When I opened my eyes again, the bus had already left the centre of town and was now heading towards the next borough. Narrow, high condos, made of red brick, framed the streets the bus was taking. They left only a strip of sky to be seen, but it did not matter, nothing of interest existed along this passage. Part of the streets were not made from tar, but cobblestones, so the ride was quite a roller-coaster ride. Occasionally, somebody would push the button and leave the bus, but until the bus stopped at the other High School, nobody would join. Out of habit, I turned my face to the entry of the bus, to see whether there was any familiar face. My heart made a leap, as I saw who it was. A woman in white bought a ticket from the conductor.
Her clothes were completely white, as were her skin and hair. She looked as if she was a ghost, and I had always wondered, whether I could see her intestines, when holding a flashlight behind her back. The only thing that did not make her a ghost from long passed centuries were her modern style clothes. She was taller than me, despite the fact that my height was above average.
As the conductor handed the ticket to the woman, she smiled at him and went to a seat in front of me. She stayed perfectly calm, though the whole bus stared at her as if she was some exotic animal in a miraculous exhibition. Everyone always did, she had told me on one occasion.
When the bus went back on the now smooth road, she turned around to me. ''Hi,'' she said. I returned her greeting. I asked her, where her motorbike was, as this was the first time I had seen her actually taking the bus. She usually went to work by motorbike, come thunder or lightning. ''Just a minor check-up. I will have it back this afternoon.'' I nodded with relief. It would be a pity, if her motorbike was really broken. Her bike was a Harley-Davidson, one of the old ones. It was SO cool, that, when it passed, Chuck Norris would round-house-kick himself for not having one.
''So, how was school?'' she asked in return. I could not tell her anything out of the ordinary, it was just as boring as usual. ''I guess, I am not the first one to tell you, but school is actually worth something. For example: Language Arts. If you really want to become a journalist, writing critical essays or essays in general is the best way to practice.'' Obliviously I replied that LA was only ONE subject out of 13. What about the rest? ''Background information.'' I gave her a confused glance. She half-sighed and went on to explain. ''So, if you were, for example, interviewing a science guy, you might actually understand what he or she is talking about. And articles are usually better, if the writer knows what she is actually writing about.''  If she had glasses, I bet she would look at me over their rims. A shiver tingled its way down my spine, making every hair on my back stand straight up. I did not like this glance of her at all. It made me feel uncomfortable, inferior, as if she had seen the misery of the world and would now smirk at my ignorance. But, well, she had to know what she was talking about, as her profession was to edit manuscripts. As suddenly as it had come, the gaze vanished and I could not even be sure whether she actually had looked at me in such a degrading way. Sure, she had not, she was the nicest person I had ever met, she would not do something like that. I trusted her above everybody else, she was the only person who could probably understand and respect my point of view. It was now approximately one year since we had first met at the bus station. The memory of this meeting appeared everytime we passed this stop scaling off the haze of memories like the bus stop in the fog. The past year was a bus ride that would only halt for the meetings with her. The rest was a never-ending field of grey with no spots to gaze upon.
''So, Lassie, do you get my point?'' She tilted her head to the side. I let out an indistinct murmur that could be interpreted as both. I asked her not to call me ''lass'' anymore. At the age of seventeen this term was a bit degrading, actually. Not to mention the association with a certain dog. She laughed so loudly that I felt myself turning around to check whether the the whole bus was watching or, worse, listening. She patted my shoulder softly, reaching over the edge of her seat. ''It's all right,'' she ensured me. ''They are probably too busy with their own thoughts to listen to our little conversation.'' Indeed, my observation concluded that our fellow passengers were just staring outside the window, listening to music on their brand-new players or reading some life-style book. Relieved, I turned around to my dialogue partner again. She was now letting the hand she had used to reach me dangle about the edge of her seat, looking even more casually and self-secure than before. ''Let's make a deal about this Lassie-thing.'' That sounded both  promising and suspicious. What was this about? Couldn't she just stop calling me names, I asked her. ''No, I'm sorry. I like calling somebody this name. It's actually one of my favourite words.'' She cleared her throat. ''Can you give me a guided tour of your school? I'd like to see it once again.'' When I had told her, which school I was attending, she said that she had seen it before. She had actually been with her school's badminton team in a citywide competition many times, I did not know how many, years ago. It was pretty difficult to estimate how old she was, for she showed no specific signs, but possessed an impression of age.
I thought about her offer and found myself quite reluctant to agree. First, it would be embarassing, to be seen with an adult in school. People would wonder, why I was with an adult who was not my mother. Second, I did not feel like giving anybody a guided tour. It was an effort I was not willing to make, as I had better things to do. Things like … sitting in front of the school building and counting cars, that passed by (The people in this city had a tendency to buy silver cars.).
But not being called a ''lass'' anymore... It was somewhat alluring since it promised to end cut a part of childishness and therefore move me another step closer to maturity.
Maybe she had seen my inner conflict mirrored on my face, maybe she had interpreted my silence, for she tried to convince me to do her the favour.
''Just do it for a friend.''
This was a reason, I had not considered at all. Although we had shared our opinions about everyone and practically everything and learnt a lot about each other, I had not seen her as a friend. Actually, I had seen her more as somebody like a guidance counselor, a person I could talk to about my problems. So, even though she might see me as her friend, I did not see her as mine.
I sighed innerly. Should I sacrifice some of my time for an absolutely boring purpose and not being called a girl with the resemblance to a dog's name? The latter reward sounded more and more reasonable than the sacrifice. It would be only one hour, maybe, I told myself and, with a smile, told her:
''For a friend.''
We met the next day in front of the school building at the start of my lunch break. This time she had her motorbike back and I could hear her approaching over the few cars that drove by. Thank God, there were even fewer students than cars around in the break, so hopefully not many people would see me giving a guided tour. Our school was more than a century old, though the main building had to be renovated about 50 years ago, because it had been bombed during the War. It was a white building with a black, pointed roof. Its windows were high, creating the effect of being stared at with a thousand spider's eyes. The very front especially exemplified an obvious similarity with a spider, with its high square of 4x3 joined windows. The entrance itself, right underneath the spider window, looked remarkably like a miniature version of the entrance to the Greek pantheon. It even had an emblem of the Greek goddess of wisdom, Athene, on it. I spare myself any comment about my teachers as distributors of wisdom and servants of Athene.
When the Harley-Davidson noise grew louder, the image of a driver appeared. The vehicle stopped next to a car that had parked on the edge of the pavement. The driver took off her helmet, pulled the hair tie out and shook her middle-long white hair dramatically. When she registered my nervous look around, she laughed. She pacified me, that she was fully conscious of the awkwardness, she caused with this stereotypical action; but she found the expression on people's faces, when they would see her doing so, too funny to miss. ''Seriously ?'' I said, eyebrows arched. ''It could cause companions of yours to feel deeply ashamed for you.''
She stopped in mid-movement, an expression that could be irritation on her face. ''Then, I am sorry,'' she said and she meant it. ''Never mind,'' I assured her, a little bit confused on my own. ''Let's go.'' I pointed towards the entrance. She just nodded and pulled the keys out, hung her helmet up on the handlebar, swung her legs over the seat of her motorbike and continued on. For a second I wondered, whether her helmet might get stolen, if she left it outside, but then I remembered that this was her own business, not mine. I took the five steps in front of our entrance, she followed me closely, step by step. Finally, I opened the glass door for her, attempting to be polite, but she declined to go in first. So I took the honours all for myself, but still held the door open from the inside. ''Welcome to my castle.''
The instance she stepped into the school building, all colours seemed to amplify their brightness to an unbearable scale, much like when I left the building everyday, but this time it was way, way more starkly. And it was INSIDE. Out of reflex, I covered my face with both hands, trying to keep out this hell of colours and bowed my back like I had been hit hard in the stomach. And, indeed, the pain, my eyes were suffering from, although they were only exposed a second, felt like somebody had tried to poke them out with a stick. A Niagara river of tears flowed down my eyes. When the pain and tears finally ebbed away and I dared to lift my hands off my face, the colours were still bright, but had somehow become tolerable for my eyes. I noticed that, even in the world of brilliance my vision had become, the shine of Her whiteness stood out like a bonfire against the sky of stars. She did not seem to be confused as I was, neither about the sudden change nor about my sudden reaction to the, then presumably unseen by Her, amplification of colours. In fact, She was looking down on me, with such an empty  expression on her face that I frowned unwillingly.
Suddenly, as if She awoke from a trance, Her gaze was now focused on my eyes. „So you're okay now?“, She said in such an unconcerned voice that I frowned again. There was no hint of emotion left on Her face. I confirmed Her question, to ask what the heck had happened, why everything was so... bright. Was I suffering from a kind of colour misconception? ''It is all right with your eyes, Lass, don't fret about that.'' She sighed. ''You know, I really hate this explanatory part of my work.'' What was she talking about? Suspicion arose from the back of my mind. ''For cutting a long story short, I temporarily sealed this building. Nobody can enter or leave anymore, you understand?'' Eyebrows arched again, I asked her whether she had lost her mind. How on earth could she alone seal this building? ''Long story, as I said. I am some kind of supernatural being. Many cultures call what I am a Trickster. I suppose you know what that means?'' She thought for a second. ''Or, at least your nerdy classmate knows, you probably did not listen to her.'' She made this sound reproachful, as if it was a crime not to listen to somebody. I, in fact, did know what a Trickster was. It was a demi-god, that would play tricks on people and other gods alike, and would punish those, who did wrong, so these people would learn their lesson and show regret.
This was insane. She mistook herself for a supernatural thing that punishes people. She sounded like a serial killer, that emerged from TV-series such as ''Criminal Minds''. What would She do next? What should I do to stop Her from doing whatever She wanted to punish?  Maybe She had a weapon. God, I needed my cell phone to call the police. And – it was stored safely in my locker. What next? The entrance room seemed to grow narrower and longer every second, drawing myself closer to the psychopath next to me, yet far away from the exit on the other side. What would happen, if somebody passed by? Would She take hostages? More importantly, would She take ME hostage? She needed only two steps and could grab me by the neck.
''Then, do you know or don't you?'' Too afraid to speak, I might say anything that could upset Her and if I upset Her, then- I simply nodded.
''You seem to be pretty afraid, eh?'' She sighed. ''Thats the last thing I needed, this whole explanation will need SO much longer.'' Lost in Her thoughts, She looked out of the glass door on to the street. Not thinking about my actions, I turned the other direction and ran, before even considering the possible consequences. I flew up the five steps, that lay in front of the saving exit door, reaching for the handle, my hope of escaping leaped higher and higher- when I felt myself thrown against a side wall. The impact was not too heavy, but enough to make all air leave my lungs and smash my head against a wall. My vision went blinking with black stars, my brain seemed to be shaken around in my skull, but I managed to stay on my feet. God, how did She do that? She did not touch me at all! HOW DID SHE SMASH ME AGAINST A WALL WITHOUT TOUCHING ME? My heart started to race even heavier than before and I started to pant. How could this be possible in a world of logic and science? She still stood casually near the exit to the street, Her pale blue eyes looking straight into mine. I did not want Her to look at me like that; I wanted Her to leave me alone and never come back! While I was pinning myself to the wall to get away from Her, She looked as if She was on the end of Her rope, losing Her religion. ''Do you believe me now?'' She asked. I nodded, eyes wide open and terrified. Tricksters were for real. God, what else was it then? Angels, demons... What else inhabited the world I was living in? ''Well, this is at least some progress.'' She applauded while pressing Her lips together to a faint line. She then took one deep breath, two, three, four, five... Before I had realized what I was doing, I was breathing simultaneously with Her. My tightness, with which I had clung myself to the wall like a spider, faded, until I just leaned, not stuck against the wall. ''Better now?'' She asked. I did not respond. The way She had just calmed me down so easily, frightened me. ''Then let me get you to the heart of this whole story. As I said, the building is sealed. Except for me and you, there are still an awful lot of other people in here. These people will not be able to leave, until-'' She  paused, then raised one finger. She wanted to make sure that I would get Her point. ''Until you-'' She turned her wrist, so that Her raised finger would now point towards me.
''Will sacrifice yourself.“
She could not be serious. I inquired, what she meant by 'sacrificing myself'.
''Well, kill yourself, commit suicide, kick the bucket, bite the dust... Whatever word you prefer.''
I dropped my jaws. She could not be serious about that. Why me? ''Because this is what your lesson is, my little selfish Lass,'' She explained after my question. ''Caring not only for yourself, but others.'' She cleared her throat in a somewhat choked way. ''And, truth be told, I don't like your nose, sweetie.''
She could not be serious. I repeatedly told Her. I moved away to the door, muttering these words, then turned around and ran. Before I was too far away, I heard Her call: ''I'll wait in the assembly hall.''
I ran, I ran, I ran. I did another sprint to the bus, until I had decided where to go: the girls` toilet. Nobody would be there to see me. The toilets were tiled and usually ocher, but under the circumstances, they were bright yellow. Unused, but wet toilet paper lay around here and there. There were four cabins in the back corner. They were joined, but there was a little bit of space next to the last one. That was where I sat down. Opposite of the cabin there was a row of washbowls with one large mirror above them. From where I sat I could not see my reflection and I was too grateful, for I was the least person I wanted to see right now. Some school toilets had the nasty habit to stink like the feces of the first student who had ever used the toilets were still present somewhere, but this one did not, thank- Maybe I should stop saying that, who knows whether He actually listened. If a Trickster was after me, I was probably an abomnation in His eyes and therefore not worth saying ''Thank God'' and similar phrases. I would probably go to hell after my suicide. If I did kill myself!
I embraced my knees with both hands, buried my head in my knees and released the tears that had retained behind my blue eyes. Why? I asked. I was seventeen, at the beginning of my life, of a life I did not know what to do with yet, but it was a life. No matter what would come, I would choose to live it. I aspired to graduate, go to university, write articles for newspapers. And, when I was able to do so, I would set out to go on a long journey around the world. I longed to see the temples of Bangkok, the Opera House in Sydney, Machu Picchu, the mermaid in Copenhagen, and the Northern Lights. There were so many points on my list. Not to mention that I actually had a family I lived with.
Once I heard that the worst thing, that could happen to a mother was being forced to bury the liveless body of her own child. Did the Woman in White not realize that She was not only hurting me by forcing to kill myself? I frowned at the image of my mother crying over a coffin that was my own. Would she blame herself for my obvious suicide? What effects would my death have on the others? Would my death be like the pebble tossed in a silent water, triggering ripples in growing circles?
Now I was forced to give everything, my dreams plus my family, up for the teachers and students of my school, most of whom I did not even like. What had I done so terribly wrong? I know, this was all because I had been selfish, as she said. But I did not hurt anyone, did I? I simply did not care about the people around me and left them to their own devices. I wanted to be left alone, but some people just did not see my wishes and therefore bugged me. Which left no other choice to me than chase them away by being ugly to them. This is what I do, nothing else. I could simply not see the mistake! Finally and after all, everybody was his own neighbor.
The interminable stream of tears had soaked my pants and arms, not to mention my face. When the feeling of being damp had increased to a notable level, I had no choice but stand up and go to the mirror to grab a papertowel. At first, I avoided to look at the person in the mirror, too afraid to face a red-eyed monster. Papertowels in my hand, I rubbed my face dry until I felt the pain of the rough tissue on sensitive skin. Hesitating whether I should face my reflection, I eventually decided to lift the towel off my face. Confronted with the mirror, I nearly jumped a step back, just like in countless horror movies, She had appeared right behind me. I did not turn around, I rather chose to look at the reflection than the actual being, that the reflection belonged to. I did not look as terrible as I had expected, but maybe it was just the general brightness of the red, which made it look lighter than it could have actually been. As I dared to look at Her, my face right beside Hers, I noted an odd similarity of our complexions. We both had fair middle-long hair, the additional brightness making my normally whitish blond dyed hair nearly as white as Hers, and frail, faery-like features. The only difference made our clothes. It was Her white biker jacket versus my black trenchcoat. I did not like this resemblance at all. Maybe She could shapeshift and had created a similar appearance to mine. But I would never know for sure.
''I see you still haven't decided yet,'' she stated the obvious. Go Figure, I told her. Had she ever been forced into suicide? She negated. ''Did you realize that these people will sooner or later will be dehydrated? Although you might not have noticed, a lot of time has already passed. I speed things up a little bit, granted, but anyway they suffer.'' As I still remained silent, She asked. ''What stops you from killing yourself?'' I let out a cheerless laughter and told Her, what exactly it was: a will to live, a mourning mother, and unaccomplished dreams.
''Alas, my Lass. Are you so sure your death is as important to people as you think? You overvaluate yourself.'' She raised her left hand and held out her index finger. ''First, there is nothing time cannot erase. Or a Trickster. I can make them forget that you have ever existed. Or make them think you have moved to somewhere far, far away.'' Now she held up her middle finger. I wondered whether she actually liked doing stereotypical actions. ''Second, nobody would miss you, anyway. I daresay, that you your own did a good job regarding your classmates. They have either already half-forgotten that you have ever been in the same class as them or are grateful not to have this unpleasant person around anymore.'' Once again, She applauded. ''Remarkably how an ordinary human accomplishes what a powerful being like me is able to do. Truly remarkable.''
During Her speech, a part of me bursted  into tiny little sharp pieces like a mirror that is hit by steel fist. Was it so easy to erase a whole life? My life?
The Woman was still not satisfied with the result of a psyche falling into fractions.
''What else do you need to take this step?''
I cramped my hands tight together, until my knuckles were as white as Her and did not respond. She snapped Her finger in a rush of sudden inspiration. ''You know what? Go to the lunch room. I want to play a game.''
Was not this whole freaking thing a game for her?, I asked myself as I once again buried my head in my hands. Eventually, I would leave the toilets and make my way to our lunch room.
The room was crammed with people, students and a few teachers, who had the misfortune not to have unknowingly escaped in this very lunch break. As I overviewed them, I noted that the majority of them were looking exhausted. They were dehydrated, She had said. Somewhere in the room, I saw a white shadow moving to center of the crowd. When the shadow, which was, of course, Her had reached the middle, She climbed on a desk and shouted one authoritarian ''Silence!''. The noise stopped immediately: There was the center of attention, an unknown, mysterious Woman in White.
''Good morning, ladies and gentlemen! I would like to play a game with all attendees. Let me just explain the rules to you.'' A dramatic pause. ''I will choose one person who is the catcher, a will-less zombie. Her or she will try to catch everybody else. Once the catcher has touched another person, this person will join the ranks of catchers. This will go on, until only one person is left. '' She smiled and I realized I was the last person to be left. Then it was time for Her to choose. A frightened crowd, too frightened to flee, awaited the results. It was a little bit like ''American Idol''. Everybody presumably thought, as Her gaze flickered over him: ''Not me, my neighbor, please!''
She picked a brown-haired boy at my age. When I looked over the heads of various teachers and students, I terrifiedly recognized him as one of my classmates, the handsome soccer player, the boyfriend of my class representative. The instance She chose him, he lost all of his colour and went black and white.
''Who is afraid of the Boogeyman?'' a delighted Woman chanted in a childish voice. Then she continued chanting something that sounded frighteningly like ''Ring-A, Ring-A Rosies''. The chosen Boyfriend turned to his neighbor, which happened not to be his Girlfriend and touched him. The confused neighbor froze in movement and went black and white, too.
Before I knew what I was doing, I heard myself screaming: ''Damn you morons, now run!'' At this point a mass panic began. Devastated faces, people who tried to save their backs, were everywhere. I saved myself into a corner of the room, for I feared being trampled down by the mob more than being caught by a zombie. Some people went into direction of the assembly hall, others casted towards the science building. All of a sudden I felt myself grabbed by a hand whose owner ran towards the science building. After running up four stairs, we were on the recently established top of the science building and I realized who had actually dragged me here: the Nerd. Panting, she asked me why on earth I was going to stay downstairs with the catchers and I found myself unable to reply. Should I tell her that I was not in danger of being caught, because this whole mess was acted out only due to my character mistakes? Should I tell her that I could end it by killing myself? I asked me these questions and, once again, found myself unable to answer. In wondered, whether she could possibly understand my reasons for wanting to stay alive. She was a selfless person, she would have already killed herself a long time before. The Nerd asked me whether I would know what was going on, why this all had happened. I debated whether I could tell her anything. When I would tell her, that the Woman was a Trickster, she would count 2+2 together and link me to the events as the cause, since she knew what things like the Woman were up to and knew what I was frequently accused of. So I decided to deny any involvement. ''I have no idea. This is so insane.'' We both continued panting a while, when our Class Representative came flying up the stairs to our hiding place, crying and sobbing. No miracle, as her Boyfriend was the first to be turned into a catcher. Hiding place was said far too much,though, it was more of a trap with no escape. The stairs were the only way up – or down. Once the zombies would start to climb up the stairs, we could not sneak around them in any way and would sooner or later get caught. Well, that means they were caught, I enjoyed perfect immunity.
Then, suddenly, I had an epiphany. No matter what would happen, as long as I chose to stay alive, I was trapped in the school with a lot of will-less zombies for eternity,  as the only thinking person left. My dreams had become worthless the moment that I let Her in. I had seen my mother the last time before I went to school this morning. Was it actually still the same day? Time got so blurry inside this prison of claimed selfishness. I could cry and scream as much as I wanted, I would not be able to leave. There was only one way out. With this in mind, I walked towards the barrier of Boogeymans, which had been reaching the three girls crammed tight together.
''What are you doing?'' screamed Nerdy. One last time, I turned around to look at her worried face. She would have a great life later, with her good marks and knowledge. ''The Woman set the condition to end this game and set you, all of you,'' I added after a confused glance from the Nerd, ''free, if I kill myself.'' Immediately I turned around again to confront the wall of dull faces.
''Get out of my way. And stop chasing these girls.''
And, indeed, they formed a passage through which I could walk. Whether they actually spared the Class Representative and the Nerd, I would never know.
The walk seemed to take an eternity. I wondered whether the convicted felt the same on the way to the death sentence. I took every step with a delicious tardiness I had never used before. I enjoyed every step through the crowd of black and white people full of familiar faces. When the longest journey of my life came to an end, I found myself standing in the assembly hall. It was a two-story complex, round and surrounded by thick, yet low walls and curtains. There were also class rooms on both stories. In the oval that was our assembly hall there was a black stage with a joist for floodlights and curtains right across it. I sucked in a deep breath of air. There was no significant smell in the air, everything was as it always had been. Except for the woman in white that leaned against the ballustrade next to the joist.
''How?'', I asked clearly audible from the middle of the assembly hall.
''Any way you like.''
I sighed. I had already chosen. And she knew how I wanted to die, so she had waited right beside the joist I wanted to jump from, eating candies.
I took step of step up to my scaffold, where my chewing executor waited.
''This was a long night,'' she said and yawned  pointedly. ''Quite,'' I confirmed.
''Care for some candy?'' She held out one of her eclairs. I denied the chance for a last meal. Shrugging, she finished the candies herself.
After dropping the last paper to the ground with the others, she offered me a hand. ''Shall I help you?'' I nodded thankfully,  I did not want to fall off the joist when climbing over the balustrade. This way of dying would be pretty awkward.
So I took her offered hand and started climbing over the obstacle that separated life from the final leap. Suddenly, as I looked at her hand, I spotted a little spider tattoo in the fold right between thumb and trigger finger. Weird, I thought for a moment. I had never noticed this tattoo before.
When I stood securely on the joist, she still hold my hand for a second. Not until she let my hand go, the last bonds with the living world were ripped.
''Good-bye, Elaine.''
I balanced the last few paces until I stood in the middle of the joist.
I looked one last time up to the glass ceiling through which the morning sun would enter. If it  shone, but it would not.
I looked one last time at the Trickster and asked myself whether I had indeed outwitted her. Nobody knew, who was responsible for all the events that happened. Nobody knew it was Elaine's selfishness, that had made them suffer. Lucy, the Nerd, and Claudia knew I had fulfilled the conditions to save them all, not to straighten what I had crooked. It made me smile, an insane, crazy smile. They would remember me as a hero.
With this in mind and a wicked smile on my lips, I let my body fall backwards onto the stage.
And the bright colours dimmed and dimmed until they were black.