Project: Death for Classroom Zero

Red Envelope. Tristan Fauxier found himself staring, and perhaps daydreaming, at the glistens of the matted red envelope on his front. It was flatly laying on their rugged table. It wasn’t there when he sat in order to drink coffee, after a whole night of burning pen and paper, words and numbers, and essays and solutions in his mind. It was his mother who out of nowhere placed that envelope on the table. As it flew, it combed a snap of air that brushed through the hair and face of Tristan. Meeting the table, the matte-colored envelope made a slapping sound. Tristan look at it with shock evident in his face. Now he look at the envelope with confusion. It has been a minute since the mother threw the envelope at his front, but he wasn’t able to open it, yet. It came from his mother, so he would naturally be skeptical into opening it. Peculiar maybe as a thought, but he thinks that inside that envelope are adoption papers for him or something similar, in which his mother has long been threatening to him. “If you don’t work, I’ll sell you to that rich woman next city,” his mother would always say, unenergetically, as if her life was filled with nothing but blues and grays. He was afraid that would happen, because he had indeed met the old rich lady from their neighboring city. She is a widow. No child. Old, but is forcing herself to hide her age with the use of thick makeup and powders on her face. She wanted to adopt Tristan as her son. In a way, her mother would be given money she can use to spend in her wants. It wasn’t adoption. It was a transaction for a merchandise. Yes, the merchandise was him. It would be nice to be a son of a rich woman. He would have a good life. But when he saw the slimy stare of that old widow, scanning him up and down with a noticeable different stare—that stare which is not about a woman about to adopt a child due to love, but a woman who seeks for pleasure—he felt afraid. Terrified. So he begged his mother not to sold him in anyway possible (because her mother was unbelievably thinking about it). Now looking at the red envelope, his hands trembled as he cupped the glass of hot coffee he had made. The warmth from the glass is what he needed to calm his raging self. “What? You’re not opening it?” His mother came back from her room which she had gone to, after placing the envelope on Tristan’s front. She placed a brown glass bottle at the table beside the envelope, and looked at Tristan. Sitting the bottle even still only for a few seconds, the stink of the beer’s formulation swam through the air, and seeped through Tristan’s nose. “Ma, when will you be stopping that?” Tristan’s stares were pointed at the bottle of beer. “Old habits die hard,” his mother answered. Feeling the dryness in her throat, she grabbed the bottle of beer, and drank through it. As if it was just a water or juice. She sat on the chair at his front. Tristan sighed. Looking at his mother, he was certain that he wouldn’t be able to stop that toxic habits of her anymore. He tried everything. But ever since his father died, her addiction to beer and cigarettes never came off of her again. And so, he came to a realization that he wouldn’t be able to change his mother’s bad habits anymore. As stubborn as a rock, his mother would throw daggers and shrapnels towards him had he push her further to stop. Moving the lip of the bottle out at her own mouth, Tristan’s mother stared at the red envelope again. “Open it.” Tristan’s gaze went back at the envelope. With a sigh, he grabbed the only bright thing found at the center of the table. He had no choice. “Was this adoption paper?” Tristan frankly asked. “No,” her mother said, “why settle for less? I am way more stupid mother than someone who would sell her son to a pedophile.” “I’m nineteen.” “So, you want it to do with her?” “I’d rather do it in my own.” His mother dryly laughed. Some of the beer were spilled out of the bottle’s narrow mouth. “You’ll be glad what’s inside of that.” His mother was eyeing him when he had finally opened the envelope. The first thing that Tristan saw inside was another red. A card. Just like the envelope, its outer side were matte-finished. It was folded. And when he flipped it, the set of big letters inscribed in a white-background paper had made his eyes big. Written was the word: CONGRATULATIONS! Feeling the adrenaline exploding inside him, he quickly read the smaller letters below the exploding word he had read. “Read it aloud,” said his mother. Tristan willingly followed his mother’s request. He was smiling. He had already finished reading the arranged letters inside, but he wanted to read it for his mother’s behalf. “The Josen High School is a prestigious academy centered in making a high-calibered, remarkable social agents of the world. We focus on academic and holistic development of the young generation. Thus, we are glad to tell you that your enrollment application to Zero program has been accepted. Welcome to the Josen Family!” There was a wafting silence in between Tristan and his mother. When the news finally simmered in Tristan’s mind, he rose from the wooden chair he was sitting at. He had no idea what emotion would he want to show. But, he was sure that he either felt excited, shock, frightened, but happy, and curious. Having no idea what kind of emotion he would want to resurface, he stared blankly at the wall. “H—How did this happen?” “I enrolled you,” his mother answered. “You enrolled me at the most prestigious academy in the world?” “That is.” Tristan sat back on the chair, smiled for a bit, and with another second, he dryly laughed. Their chaotic kitchen were silent, but Tristan’s dry laugh had made it more chaotic. He looked at his mother with glistening eyes, and said, “that’s a nice prank, Ma. But I’m not buying it.” His mother sighed. “I thought you would say that.” She snatched the red envelope from Tristan’s hands, and grabbed the pile of papers inside. “Do you think I would take this prank to a different level with this papers?” She handed it to Tristan, and he quickly skimmed the words written inside. Papers, words, letters, and terms that her mother never know is existing, and never had the slightest interest to learn. All of the words, it was pertaining to Josen High Schoool of the Elites. He looked back at his mother. “Ma, I think you were scammed.” Frustrated, her mother rolled her eyes. “What kind of academy would scam me? I signed the enrolment and application form directly at the principal’s office of the academy. Do you think he’ll be scamming me?” She drank again from her bottle of beer. “But it seemed… surreal.” “Trust your mother, okay? I depend on you and your future so that we could pay our debts. I would never put you in a wasteful situation.” “But I am already enrolled at a Public High School. And it was the mid of the second semester already. I don’t want to waste that.” “What do you want to waste, the mid of the semester at your public school, or…” her mother’s head c****d forward, looking blank and serious, “…the opportunity to be part of the Josen High School.” “Th—The former.” “Good.” “But how am I accepted? How come? We don’t even have a money for the tuition fee.” “Scholarship. Grades. Records of performances. I thought you’re genius?” “Ma, I cannot know everything.” “Whatever.” She grabbed something again from the envelope. She gave Tristan another paper, smaller than the piles of paper his mother first grabbed. “What is this?” Tristan asked. “The principal says that is the most important thing you should bring. It’s the schedule of your classes.” Tristan looked at the paper. Not long after reading it, his eyes grew wide. “WHAT?!” “Yes,” his mother said. “The start of the classes is today? Three o’clock?” “Yes,” his mother repeated again. “But…” “No buts, Tristan. Pack your things. You don’t want to lose this great opportunity.” “Ma, don’t you think—” “Pack your things.” The domineering voice of his mother throbbed painfully at the middle of their conversation. Tristan stopped. He forced his self to stop, or else he would see how her mother turning wrathful again. He sighed. “Fine.” “Good.” She drank another gulp of beer. Tristan could see the drowsiness kicking on his mother’s eyes. “But do you know Ma, everything that is happening now is seriously unconventional.” “Well, life itself is unconventional, Tristan.” Tristan, about to climb up on the stairs made of wood but was being weakened by termite attacks, he heard his mother calling him again. “Tristan.” He looked at her mother. Holding the bottle of an almost empty beer, she was smiling. The smile, as what Tristan thought, was also unconventional of her. Because, for the long time, she had not seen her mother smiled. The curve on her lips was spine-chilling. “Good luck, I am rooting for you.” ******* The cry of the dark crows resting at the line cables above had harmonized with the crimson death hue of the sky. There were other birds, but they were distantly chirping. Tristan’s chest were pounding hard. His nervous system weren’t calming down as he walk at the almost infinitesimal road. The heat of the sun had made the road dancing, making him think that perhaps, the road he was taking at, was actually a desert being concretized with cement. His white shirt (the only decent shirt he had) were drenching from the sweat his body had released from the heat. He looked at the wristwatch one of his friend had given to him (it was a snatched, stolen watch). It was two-thirty of the deadly afternoon. Being afraid that perhaps he might be late, he made a quicker pace of his walk. Josen High School of the Elites were a walking distance. At least, he thought. For some, they would not want to mimic what Tristan was doing, because the distance of their house onto the school were three miles. He has been walking for an hour already, but he had not reached his destination yet. The Josen High School was a separated place, away from the crowded city. It was recommended for a student of Josen to bring any vehicle because to walk is a hilarious idea. Tristan wasn’t a hilarious person. Life was just hilarious on him. “This would be my everyday nightmare for my new school,” he said. “But what can I do? This is my dream academy. There are a lot of opportunities waiting for me, once I have the record in my resumes of being a graduate and scholar of the school. That is, if Ma weren’t really scammed.” His monologues probably helped him calm the rages of his anxious thoughts. His chest too finally reached the state of calming down. But when he saw the gate of the academy, his heart started to pound. Again. Even louder than the first throbbing of it. There was a hard lump formed on his throat. His sweat, despite the weather is hot, had turned cold. Chilling. He cleared the lumped obstacle in his throat as he reached the gate of the Josen High. “Uh, hello, Sir.” The guard that was about to dive into an afternoon nap while sitting at his post, suddenly turned alerted. He looked at him with his reddish eyes. A question of ‘why did you disturb me?’ could be read on his face. “What is it, young man?” the guard asked. He looked at him from head to toe, scanning the laughable sweaty shirt he was wearing. “I wasn’t sure about this. But, my Ma sent me here. She said to, uh, give this to you?” Tristan handed the red congratulatory card he received, along with the envelope. The guard looked at him with suspicion. Earlier, he knew his eyes had turned red because of the interrupted nap he was doing. But now, that same redness turned terrifying as he stare at him, while holding the red card he had given. “Ugh… I thought that was a scam. And I think I am right. Then, I thi—” “Why?” the guard interrupted him. “Don’t you want to be part of Josen High? Of Zero program?” Tristan swallowed the dry saliva on his tongue. His heart was unstoppable of its rage, as if it was saying that he shouldn’t enter; that he shouldn’t be part of that elite High School. But he said, “I—I want to.” The guard went inside his small post, and snatched a thing hanging on the wall. “Wear this,” he said as he gave Tristan a blank PVC card with a black colored lace to hang around the neck. At the surface of the lace runs the school’s name—'Josen High School of the Elites’—made with embroidered color of gold. “That is your ID.” “But sir, it was blank.” “Follow me,” the guard commanded, ignoring Tristan’s concern. He turned his back to Tristan, and started to head towards another gate, but was smaller than the main one. However, he noticed that the smaller gate does not lead to the main hall and vast space of the academy. Instead, it was a narrow walkway leading to wherever the guard would take him to. With another sigh, Tristan followed the guard through the gate. “Where are we going, sir?” he asked. “To where you would be studying.” “Will I not be studying at those huge buildings at the main?” Tristan looked at the buildings standing at the main campus. They were huge and elegant. A place for a really powerful personalities. The guard laughed at him. “Why would you? You know, you should not become too ambitious. Being able to be part of the Josen High School was already a feat. But joining in the class of socially inclined, you shouldn’t dream that.” Tristan looked down. “I forgot about that reality,” Tristan admitted. “Perhaps, it was because of the fact that I was invited here, that I became too ambitious. You know, seeing one of your almost impossible to reach kind of dreams becoming real, your mind would trick you that everything could be possible. I forgot that those dreams were still restricted within the reality.” “And society.” Tristan agreed. “And the reality of society.” “Don’t worry, the building for the scholars were still beautiful. Also advanced,” the guard assured him. “Really?” The guard does not need to answer him, for it can now be seen on their front. At the end of the pathway that they have travelled, there they saw the huge building standing at the top of a hill. Tristan had literally opened his mouth in shock and disbelief soon as he saw how huge and beautiful the building was standing above. With Tristan’s calculation, he could sense that the building was composed of five storeys. The exterior design were combined of antiquity and modernity. He could see that it has a designated left and right wing in each levels of the building. There were elegant vintage-colored lights beaming at the surface, and those hanging plant familiarly known as Pothos had made a remarkable depth to the building’s beauty. Tristan, however, always wants to call that plant in its scientific name: Epipremnum aureum. “Go on, young man. Good luck. On your studies. And on your life.” ‘Good luck. On your studies … On your life’ The impact of the guards’ word made Tristan felt unsure. What the guard told him has automatically repeated on his now swirling sets of thoughts. “Well then, sir, I am going.” He looked at his worn watch. It was already two fifty of the crimson afternoon. Afraid that he might be late to the class, he quickly ran towards the top of the hill. Two fifty five. He finally reached the front of the still-fascinating building. His clothes were drenched with his sweat, and his breathing went back frantic. Looking at the surrounding, he felt secured when he found out that there were still students lingering outside of the building’s premise. Some of them were standing, while some were observing the beauty of the building. And some … were just sulked in the corner, eyes were ash-decaying as if waiting for something. Something… He felt that there was something similar posted on all of the faces of the students waiting outside the building. Fear. Pale. Panic. Dread. He was about to greet some of them and talk since there is a high possibility that they could be his classmate. But seeing their faces, he hesitated. Why were they all pale and drowning in fear? First day of school might be really nerve-wrecking. It could give lupine sensation to the bones and marrows of any student, especially if they knew that they were about to enter a school of high expectations. But those sense of being lupine shall not be this dreary. It was as if those students knew their death were nearing. That Satan was beside them, accompanied by the devils of death. He looked at a certain woman crouching on the ground. She was holding her head and rapidly speaking some familiar Latin words and phrases A prayer. Pater Noster. Continuing with his observation, he realized the reason why the students were still lingering outside. The building was still closed. He wanted to ask what was happening, but he felt that asking anyone from this place were the stupidest thing he would ever do in his life. Because, the students seemingly confined theirselves inside their own fearing world. “Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum…” From his position, and from the eerie silence, he clearly heard the mumbles of prays of the woman crouching on the ground. Her whispering prays has a hidden message which Tristan seemed to decode: ‘fear, the world is about to end!’ Or perhaps, that was not the real message, but he was certain that it was somehow similar. Close to it, at least. “Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra…” His eyes travelled back to the eerie surrounding. He saw one man walking back and forth. He was rubbing his hands as if he was feeling cold, or that the place was invaded by the winter solstice. It was not. The sun was still glaring angrily from the sky. “Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie…” He saw another woman resting her back at the wall’s building. Just like the others, she decides to seclude herself, and be drowned in her own anxious world. She was looking above the sky, trying to appreciate its crimson beauty with the use of her dull and lifeless eyes. “… et dimitte nobis debita… Et dimitt— Et dimmit… Bullshit!” In a snap of his neck, Tristan looked back to the praying woman. She ragingly stopped her litany. She hesitated, and then continued. “Et dimitte nobis debita…” But she again stopped.  Tristan jolted from shock when he heard the pungent-in-the-ears slap of the woman to her own face. Her cheeks administered flushes of redness, but did not mind the sharp sting, for she started her prays again from the start. Seconds after, she stopped. She slapped her face again with the use of her noticeably shaking hands. “Bullshit, I forgot the prayer!” She was panicking. And shaking. And crying. And frightened. And horrored. The ring of the bell from the main campus of the school bombed an explosive sound that pierced through the whole surrounding. Even there at the silent hill where Tristan and the scholar students were standing, the bell can still be heard. It made the students feel a different level of panic. In a sudden spur of event, the ground—or more so the hill—started to shake. An earthquake. Tristan crouched, for the shaking of the ground had made his standing posture imbalanced. Until he saw something that raised own fear and panic from his inside. Just like in science-fiction, He saw a huge octagonal-shaped glasses erupting from the ground; rising; grouping; causing the shakes; and forming a barrier-like dome. “What the hell.” Tristan could not easily process the things he was seeing. It was the first time he saw such revolutionary yet terrifying thing rising from above the ground. Those octagonal-shaped glasses were forming a barrier. If it would be seen from the outside. But from the perspective of the people trapped inside, it was a prison. A locked fortress. “I—I can’t do it,” the praying woman whispered. “I—I can’t do it!” She stood up, eyes wide; shaking. Driven with unknown fear and panic, she ran towards the erupting octagonal-shaped glasses with tears falling from her tired eyes. She ran despite the fact that the ground was still raging. “Stop her!” Someone from the group of the students shouted. But it was already too late for them to act anymore. At her tenth step, a black shining metal rose from the ground exactly from where her feet had stepped. The risen metal thrust the woman beginning from her anus. It pierced through her flesh; made her mouth spit funereal clots of red blood. The tip of the sharp risen metal from the ground reached the peak of the woman’s head. Blood flowed from above; coating her deliriously moving face. Her body wiggled like a beheaded worm, struggling away from the metal that skewered her like a meat. Barbequed. Tristan heard the people behind him screaming. Panic punched through them. And him. Looking at the now dead body of the woman, his eyes were wide—could not believe what he was witnessing. His legs felt weak. He had no choice but to sit on the ground as he look at the horrible body of the skewered human meat. Something exploded on his chest. A tingling sensation at first. Until it became painful. Then burning. Hellish. Before him blacking out, he realized that his body was tremendously shaking. He pulled the last remaining bits of his strength to look at those people behind him. Just like him, they were being electrocuted.