A/N: There is literally not anything I can say right now... Chapter 24, plot development and such.

Chapter 24

Last period had been revoked in favour of the well-gossiped assembly.

All of the over one-thousand students had been brought from their classes and the gym (which had been converted into an assembly hall) made me feel as if I were stuck in an organised slaughterhouse. Even worse was that the Gym only had two doors to let air in, both were closed, seeming as tight as submarine airlocks stuck in the dark, unending depths of the sea. The few lights hanging from the ceiling were dim and glowed like dying fireflies.

We were set in rows, after rows of benches, but to accommodate everyone we were packed like worms in an angler's bucket, all uneasy and wriggling in anticipation and trepidation.

At the far end of the gym, underneath the basketball hoop, was a podium left unattended. Teachers were to the sides of the room, all were uninterested.

As I sat there, I quickly took notice to Eric, who was only a few benches away, he, like everyone else, had no space. His cheek was deeply bruised and he breathed long and hard, like a giant disturbed from its restful slumber. He had not told anyone of what Damien had done; he was one for personal revenge. I realised that I had probably failed my self-made promise to keep Damien safe; I would have panicked more if the heat were not so overwhelming.

Talking was high and in the large, hollow room, echoes increased every decibel tenfold. It was so loud that I could nearly hear ringing in my ears as if I were stuck next to a gunshot or the speakers to a death metal concert. How anyone could understand anything was a miracle.

Everyone else I recognised was quite far away and I was stuck next to two larger teenagers, both were as sweaty and uncomfortable as everyone else.

It was a very awkward position to be stuck in.

Not many people seemed to care of the assemblies intentions; only those in my grade and a few others were very distraught about the assembly or the death of Wendy. There were not a large amount of people in the school who actually lived in South Park, even though it was closest to the town. I could spot some girl, who I guessed was in grade 8, fondling the crotch of a boy of around the same age. Either she wasn't trying, and failing, to be inconspicuous in the dim lighting or wasn't trying at all. No one paid them mind, it was probably happening elsewhere in the hall anyways. What a respectful way to commemorate the death of a student and the repercussions of that.

The teen she was molesting raised his hand tentatively up her side and groped her breast. I frowned at their disrespect and lack of decency and turned my gaze to the podium, half-blocked by slicked and damp hair of a variety of colours, most being brown.

People kept talking loudly and a small percentage of others partook in their vulgar activities. The teachers did nothing but wait, uncaring, some just covered their ears and waited for the noise to die down.

In ten minutes the headmaster, Mr Speyer, call came from the back door, of which was hidden in a small corridor to the far left.

He was a man that seemed to once have been of strength, an angular jaw line and hard amber eyes that seemed fit for a soldier. Age had done its just dues though and those eyes had small bags, his probably once fresh skin was wrinkled, greyer than it once was and his hair, that may have once been an attractive blond, was as grey and thin as old ash.

Only a few people quieted.

He looked at the hall with only boredom. He lived miles away in the neighbouring town and it was well known that he only took the job because it paid well. He didn't know how to run a school, that was why it was in such poor repair.

A few taps on his microphone silenced a few others.

At the still loud noise, he furrowed his brows and tapped some more, bum, bum, bum it went. Only three or four more paid attention.

His short temper reached its end and he grabbed the microphone roughly and squeezed it.

The speakers squealed loud and clear, echoing and echoing. As loud as bomb.

Everyone fell silent.

When he took of his hand, the ringing persisted and slowly died down over time, but even as he talked, it was still there in the back of my hearing.

He coughed once before he began speaking, his voice sounded robotic through the old speakers and was half disjointed, near unbearable. "So, as many of you know. Wendy Testaburger, an honourable and respected student, has died…"

Much of his speech was nothing but ramblings about how great of a person she was.

Eventually he had raved his way to the subject of the curfew.

"And because of this grievous loss…" He trailed off and pulled at his collar, he was just as sweaty and hot as everyone else. Most people had lost interest; many of the out of towners had gone to searching their phones 'indiscriminately' by hiding them in the pocket or continue whatever they were doing with their boyfriends and girlfriends. He continued, "The police are going to enforce a curfew from six A.M to Ten P.M. If you are caught in South Park at any time after ten you are probably going to just be taken home."

I sighed and felt that I wanted to join the collective groan but stayed silent. I was worried that the police were taking this seriously, and that meant it truly was a bad matter. Inside I had wanted it to be said that it was all some hoax, some sick game people had played. That was only a fantasy though, people were dead and the police were talking action. I felt my head pound with the realisation and the room felt even hotter, as if I were stuck above magma. My head burned and thumped like church bells and I felt pale and sick.

Ring…. Ring… Ring.

The church bells ceased and a new bell took its place, the ringing of the end of period, had it been an hour already?

The people around me got up and began leaving, I huddled myself in the seat and let them leave. My head pounded more and I felt paler, weaker. Very, very tired as well, I hadn't felt so tired in a long time.

The heat left slowly and the open doors didn't do much to let cold air in.

Wavering and dizzy I eventually tried to raise my body. Only to be stopped by a hand on my arm, following its trail led to the calm, monotone red-eyed look of Damien. He placed his other arm around my shoulder with mutters of "let's get you outside."

Not once before had I found the biting air so refreshing but that day had made it as wonderful as the elixir of ecstasy. Damien just stood at my side, loyally waiting until I would say that I was ok. He would have stayed there for hours; he was truly a great friend.

I loved him.