1.2
Hundreds of lights surrounded me, writhing in the dark. They squirmed through the filth and vomit and excrement. Whispering. I pushed them away, and slowly they receded.
All but one. Far bigger, far brighter than all the others. This one did not squirm. It did not wriggle. It did not whisper.
If I had to guess, I would say it waited.
My world had shrunk to the inside of the locker. No-one was out there to release me. No-one was waiting, except maybe my father. But he was at home, so far away and so distant in time. He wouldn't even realise something was wrong for hours.
But here, the light was waiting.
I knew I must be delirious, at best. The shallow cuts that ran along my hands and arms, the results of my panicked attempts at escape, were soiled with the corruption of the locker.
I didn't think infections came on that quick though. It had only been a few hours. At least I hoped. It was hard to tell.
Maybe it was my brain playing tricks on me, the feverish colouring to the world just a mix of claustrophobia and exertion.
The alternative, which seemed more likely with each passing minute, was that something inside my mind was broken.
Ever since Emma made her new friends, I often wondered what my breaking point was. The thought was far more frightening than the girls were, more than Emma and Sophia and any nasty words or pranks. And the bullies terrified me enough. But losing control of my mind, the one refuge I had remaining? It seemed like the greatest tragedy, short of death, and even then it was a close call. Closer by the day.
I got that I wasn't well-adjusted. I couldn't be. To many personal tragedies, too close together, coupled with ongoing and pervasive stress. I always thought the knowledge could be a protection, that while I still had insight into the risk then I was safe. Insight was the first thing to go, for most. I had read that somewhere.
But now, even while I could still appreciate my precarious hold over myself, all the other evidence suggested I had lost her grip on reality.
And still the light waited. The silence was an invitation, it seemed. And in this locker, with no friends for miles, I felt inclined to accept.
How could I trust that feeling though? I mean, I was seriously questioning my mental stability here. It could be that this was all in my mind, and I was strapped to a bed in a psychiatric ward somewhere.
If this was reality overlayed by psychosis, then the light could be anything. It could be just more refuse, or it could be an exposed screw in the locker. I could understand my mind subconsciously directing me towards sharp objects given the situation.
It could be a bomb.
I shook my head. This was a prank, albeit a nasty one. Why would they put a bomb in the locker with me? If I was still in the locker, anyway.
I came to a decision. I needed to do something, and it was unlikely it would be harmful. I would reach out to this ... thing. Slowly. Carefully. Really, what was the worst that could happen?
My hand brushed the light.
Another mind, a presence, terribly alien, crashed down upon me. It screamed and I felt my knees buckling. Bile rose in my throat, tears ran from my eyes. Something warm trickled from my nose. And the presence pushed. Pushed me back, away, aside, and filled the space behind me.
And I was receding. Shrinking.
Panic bubbled and exploded, and I strained against the presence. It was like pushing against an entire world. In desperation I reached outwards, my mind screaming for help.
The multitude of smaller lights, distant and almost hidden behind the glowing presence, responded. A jumble of smells and sights and sounds overwhelming what remained of me. But they shone brighter. They moved with my need, advancing towards the presence.
My army.
And I realised the truth. They had been my friends from the start, and I had spurned them. I had turned towards another, more familiar. Less different. But an enemy all the same, malevolent, that desired to pervert everything I was.
It would be ironic, in other circumstances. I'm sure Sophia would get a kick out of it.
The presence still grew, coiling through me, its touch growing in confidence. Now images crowded into my head. Inky blackness, darker even than the lightless locker. A feeling of vast distance. A hunger, a desire to expand. Flashes of the outside world, but all wrong. Green skies and black oceans and blue suns. Scenes of horror.
The scream pitched higher and louder. My skull shuddered to the beat of it, the locker itself seemed to pulse in time. And my new friends, my only friends, the tiny lights rushing forwards at my command, were snuffed out in a wave. I could feel each one extinguish, each one just a tiny pinprick, barely noticeable. But the loss was painful nonetheless. They had been mine.
Something else rose up in me, like anger but not so formed as to deserve the word. Less, and more. Like a response to an insult to my very existence.
And I pushed back. The locker disappeared into nothingness. All that remained was the presence and my own mind. It dwarfed me on such a scale that I could not comprehend it, even in this emptyness outside of space and time.
I gathered all that I was, my frustration and rage, my hopelessness, my hatred of this thing that was anathema, and I fashioned it into a weapon. A shining blade, heavy and sullen. And I thrust it forward into the mass of light burning around me.
The screaming shifted, and I felt the presence move, to try to turn away from my dagger. What was confident became uncertain.
I drew back and swung again, heavy blows cleaving off glittering mountains of light, returning to me while denying that strength to the other. And I expanded again, more weight and strength to gouge again and again.
And soon the presence was as it had been, a small point of light. Diminished, yet still strong. I could measure it better now. I readied myself for the killing blow.
And the other flexed, more conceptually than physically. A courtier's bow.
A quiet voice entered my mind, like the chittering of innumerable hordes.
[Administrator], it acknowledged.
In the dark, I smiled and extended my hand.
Across the world, precogs dreamed of seas running red with blood and the sun blackening to twilight. They dreamed of monsters.