(Riku's POV)

I was walking through the fraternity homes trying find one I could join. Ever since the monsters started sharing their world with humans, monster schools gained more human subjects, new lunches, clubs, and events. Though the Scare Games were still popular, there were other competitions, like talent shows, short story, and new Olympic Games.

I, unlike most humans, decided to major in Scaring, and minor in Creative Writing, because I want to choreograph scares in monster movies. Fortunately for me, I don't have to physically scare anyone, but I do have to pass the written work. We all had to submit a short story focusing on fear in Creative Writing, honoring the University's original purpose.

The Fraternity homes had grown in number due to all the new human students. But the one that I want to join is Roar Omega Roar, the top fraternity in Monsters University. They only accepted the most talented and successful students. And I'm going to prove that, though I was a human freshman, I was more that worthy of the Roar Omega Roar title.

It's the beginning of the year and everyone was just starting to settle down in their dorms. In fact, it was so late that I should have gone to sleep, which I should really do if I wanted to get a good first impression and get the professor's favor. With that in mind, I quickly left the fraternity homes to get to sleep.

(Next Day)

I entered my Creative class, where a human teacher, Mr. Ross, a tall man with brown hair and eyes with an sharp expression, was in front of a white board. Just by looking at him, I could tell that he would drop you by a letter grade for missing even a poem.

"Class, for your first task, you have written a short story to induce feelings of fear to the reader. In order to put up the best example, I have chosen a short story that was most outstanding."

Yep, had to be me, how couldn't it be? I was the top writer in highschool, and I've seen every horror and thriller movie up till today. I was sure that my story "Bloody Chains" would be the best in the whole class.

"And the best short story is... "Silent Screams".

Wait, what?!?!

"Would the writer please stand up in front of the class?"

A russle from behind, and a monster from behind me walked to the front. He looked like a kitten, heather grey or gainsboro fur with dark grey stripes on his arms and legs, and some on his cheeks. He had fur covered horns on the sides of his head, venetain red fin-like "hair", claws on his hands and feet, and a dinosaur-like tail. He wore a red and black jacket with a hood, wrist gloves, and a silver crown necklace.

Though his body and mouth were very cat-like, his cerulean eyes, hands and general appearance were more human than even most monsters.

"Would you like to read your story to the class?"

"M-Me? Really?" He said nervously.

"Yes, really! Come over here and read!"

The monster slowly went to the front, grabbed his story from Mr. Ross, and began to read."

"'Silent Screams', I-"

"Your name?" Mr. Ross intoned.

"E-Excuse me?"

"What is your name?"

"Sora Hikari, sir."

"Well then," he turned to the class, "this is 'Silent Screams' by Sora Hikari." He gestured for Sora to continue. Sora cleared his throat and started again.

"'I was sitting in my cell, chained to the medal floor. The cuffs bound my legs and feet, preventing me from reaching the cell door. The rusted chains were tight and irritating, but the chafing no longer bothered me. Across from me were corpses of my latest victims, pale and crimson. I admired the smokey crystal irises, clouded like unpolished quartz.

I was semi-curious of how and when exactly I killed them, my drugged mind leaves not much room for remembrance when it enters its hazy world of shapes, sounds, and smells. I can barely recall the pumping of blood, the taste in my teeth, the ringing in the air.

There was no ringing now, not a sound, aside for my breathing and the pungent smell of decaying flesh and the rotting breath of death, and a sickly sweet scent that dripped red.

I had long since poured detergent in their mouths to combat the sour odor, but the odor emerged victorious, the detergent only adding to the poisoned atmosphere. The air was toxic, changing everything that dare breathed.

There were three bodies in total, bodies of souls I knew, covered in a multitude of cuts, scratches, and bruises. One was a white haired old man, his body so decrepit, wrinkly, and dusty, he would have been disgusting and died even if I hadn't laid claw on him. His spine had been revealed outside his back, and I had ripped it out completely, watched break apart in my hand, and now I would attempt to reassemble it in my spare time. Ironic how this was the one who taught me human anatomy.

The second body was a young blonde girl, only looking nine while her face said "dead". She was a pretty one, would have probably grown to be a lovely young lady if it hadn't been for her time being cut short when I appeared to have smashed her against a wall. The skin on her head was ripped, showing ivory skull and a dent where she was hit, and her eyes were clawed out, leaving dark sockets filled with dried blood. She was the daughter of one of my neighbors in my supposed rented home.

The third corpse was a beautiful woman. She had emerald green eyes, red hair, and a soft complexion. She was by far the most particular. Her expression was oddly calm and content. She had the fewest injuries, she must have not put up a fight. When she came here, she had a knife gripped tightly in her hand.

When I'm in my haze, I lose every thought of communication, I become predator, creeping around my prey and usually wearing them down, then going berserk, attacking and biting, passing out after hear the fade of a heartbeat.

Then the wounds on her arms were her own creation. The skin of her arms were flared up into bleeding lilies, blood painting the roses red. On her right arm was written 'I CAN'T FEEL', a picture of a broken heart, and a crossed out eye.

I didn't know her as well as I thought I had apparently, for she was the happy-go-lucky cafe waitress I knew for a few years.

I took her knife to draw pictures in my victims' arms and painted with blood, and when I ran out of room, I drew on my arms and painted the walls.

The door to my cell was suddenly opened. I couldn't see their faces, they all wore black hoods. A blindfold went over my eyes, and my chains were slackened. I didn't fight. I never would, I loved this. I loved what it meant. Needles were forced into my arms, drugging my veins. I was in my haze once more.

How I longed for this, the rush, the high, the adrenaline! Already the stench in the air became a seducing perfume, the sweet scent driving me mad with hunger. I smelt a wonderful rush of life-giving blood and my blindfold was ripped off.

The men that opened my cell had fled, leaving me this enticing morsal. I saw the figure hunching over, like it was trying to escape, how useless when were both trapped here, and this cell was made for one.

I approached the figure, following his or her retreating footsteps. I could hear their blood rushing and I purred in lust. I lunged, and with that, the feast began.

The heartbeat spiked, their life liquid tingled on my tongue, the smell making me almost drunk. Screams that reached no one once again filled my cell. I gripped their throat, forcing more blood from the wounds, feeling the pumping in their veins, pulsing and breath-hungry, as it let out another cry none will hear.

The heartbeat vanished and my haze broke. I collapsed to the floor in a drunk sleep. When I woke, there was the blonde girl's father, dead like his daughter. Another body has been added to the pile."

...I wanted to throw up. The class sat in stunned silence. Sora looked up from his paper to gauge our reaction. He blushed through his fur at our silence.

"Well done, Sora Hikari, you may sit down," Mr. Ross finally said through his stupor.

Sora nodded and went back to his seat right behind me. I turned to look at him. He hunching over shyly, his arms folded on the desk. His eyes were looking at all the staring faces, glancing and mine, then putting his head on his desk.

Who was this kid, how did he write so well, and how the fuck did he show me up, and who the fuck was he to do that?