Escape

"Let me out!" The words came out first as a scream, then a cry, and now a sob. No one heard her. No, they heard her, they just didn't care. They laughed.

Only, Taylor couldn't hear them laughing anymore. All she could hear was the sound of her own panicked breathing and the pounding of blood in her ears. They did this, they did all this, filling her locker with ... with ... and then they left her here?

She strained against the door, twisting her body to try to unlock it or bang against it or something. How long had she been in here? A minute? An hour? Had everyone gone home for the day? Was she going to half to spend the night in this ... in this ... could she last that long? Would she die here? Were they trying to kill her now?

I can't breathe. I can't breathe. Let me out! LET ME OUT!

The door gave way with a squelch and she fell onto the soft floor.

Pulling herself to her knees, she gasped for breath and wiped grim from her face. A futile effort, considering how she had already sank a few inches into ...

Rotting flesh.

The floor was rotting flesh. The walls were rotting flesh. The whole damn school was rotting flesh.

I've died and gone to hell.

Still a step up from the locker.

Still, shouldn't there be fire? A lake of fire and brimstone was a recurring theme. Maybe ... flaming skulls would work.

A network of iron grew out of the flesh around her like weeds, blossoming into bone and igniting in flame. And ... she could feel it happening around her even more than she could feel it, like she was this hellish landscape and she was reaching up out of it.

Screams filled the hallway, and the sight of familiar faces informed her that she was not, as she had hoped, in the Pit of Despair, but still at Winslow. Just a version of Winslow made of frummagem and skull torches. They were evacuating. Why hadn't someone sounded the fire alarm? Oh, right, because it was made out of meat.

She looked down at herself, covered in blood, garbage, and her own vomit. No way she was going out like this. Could she ... how well could she control this?

She closed her eyes and imagined something ... cleaner. Something with water. An ocean? A waterfall? No, it had to be indoors. A bathhouse. Greek style, with classical marble statues shooting out jets of water and, and more statues serving as pillars. And plants, exotic flowers growing from pots around the fountain, red and vibrant.

She didn't need to open her eyes to know how it had turned out. She could feel it. She could feel it grow, form, it was a part of her ... but also apart from her, older than her, independent. It was already there, needing her only to bring there here, and ... and ...

It was too much to think about. She was trying to apply rationality to surrealism, when really what she needed was a shower.

She stepped into the cold water of the newly formed fountain with her clothes on, let out a gasp, then changed it into hot water. Perfect. Steam rose up into the air and out ... out through the circular sunroof above her.

Huh. She had made that. She had made all of that. This was ... this wasn't just having super powers. Super powers was being able to shoot lasers or punch through walls. She could reshape reality and make her dreams come true in the most literal sense of the word.

This wasn't having super powers.

This was being God.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Taylor, panicked, looked around toward the intruder. She hadn't bothered to take off her glasses any more than the rest of her clothes, but she recognized the uniform of a PRT trooper.

PRT. Parahuman Response Team. She was a parahuman, and they were coming to arrest her. But she didn't do anything wrong! She didn't mean to—she didn't know what she was doing! And they were going to take her away, lock her up, bury her in containment foam, trap her in the dark ...

She opened her mouth to explain, but she couldn't get the words out. The sunroof closed up around her, the lights went out, and the pristine stone walls turned to blood. It was all she could do to keep the room from closing in on her once more. Instead, the room grew spikes. Long, jagged, and rusted, blades sprouted out around her.

The PRT trooper grabbed her by the wrist, the glare from the flashlight mounted on his shoulder blinding her, and he yanked her out of the water. "Evacuate the building, kid! This isn't a game! We don't know what the hell is going on, and it could start killing people any second!

As he dragged her toward the exit, it dawned on her that he didn't know. He didn't know! She wasn't in trouble. She wasn't even outed. Her whole day had ranged from nightmarish to dreamlike, and the constant surrealism had left her feeling almost delirious.

"Got another one, McCoy," the trooper said. "Don't know if it's the Shaker effect making everyone stupid or if the kids here are all just high."

McCoy barely glanced in Taylor's direction as she shivered, soaked to the bone and now out in the cold January air. "Triage tent that way if you're hurt. Sign the sheet before you leave so we know who made it out."

"Did ... did anyone get hurt so far?" Taylor asked, hoping that she sounded more concerned than guilty.

"Got nearly a hundred being treated for shock, and I'm betting more than a few are going to need therapy after this, but no one's needed a body bag yet." He glanced down at her, as though just realizing who he was talking to. "What are you still doing here, kid? Get going."

Taylor wandered off in the direction of the triage tent, but she didn't go in. She wasn't hurt and honestly she felt better now than she had in months, despite the cold. Unless the tent had dry clothes she could change into, she'd be better off just hurrying home. She didn't even need to sign out, either. She hadn't even made it to her first class before ... before ... so there wasn't even any record of her even being at school today.

The trio was going to get away with it, she realized. They probably would have anyway, but with the schoolwide evacuation they wouldn't even need to use the paperthin alabis they had probably invented. There wouldn't even be any proof that they had done anything at all.

She tried not to think about that, any more than the locker. She was free now in a way she had never been before, free from reality. Behind her, Winslow began reverting to its normal, mundane form as through waking from a dream, but the dream remained, just beneath the surface. If her bullies ever tried something like that again, or if they ever tried anything again, she could pull that dream back into reality and shut down the entire school.

She took a deep breath of fresh, cool air and headed home.

WWW

A/n So I'm starting a snippet series, and I wanted a Taylor gets Labyrinth's powers to start things off. I might give the idea a few more chapters later on, but I didn't want to commit an entire story to this.