I woke up this morning, like any other morning. I sat up, stretched my arms and got out of bed. I was heading toward the bathroom, when I felt an itch on my left wrist. I didn’t thought of anything at first, just scratched and that’s it. I got in the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. My long brown hair was ragged and uncombed, my face was covered in drool, and I had a nasty zit on my nose. I groaned and tried to find a way to cover it up. I reached for the medicine cabinet when I saw it. A faint white scar on my left wrist. A scar that runs from my wrist to about an inch above my forearm. What did this come from? Where did I get it? Scared my parents might see it, I quickly hurried to my room, covering my arm. I grabbed my robe and quickly slipped it on.

“Jerri?”

I jumped and looked up to see my younger sister, Eli. She seemed a bit worried and began to walk in without my permission. She wore a long sleeve shirt, but she kept tugging her left sleeve, hiding something.

“What is it Eli?” I asked. She looked around and then showed me her left wrist. It had the same cut as mines.

“What did you do?” I asked.

“Nothing, I just woke up and it was there,” she whispered, frightened as well. I sighed and showed her mines.

“I have the same thing too,” I told her. She sighed in relief, but then looked at me.

“Should we tell Mom or Dad. They must know something?” she asked. I wasn’t sure telling Mom and Dad might help. They might begin to ask all these are-you-depressed-and/or-suicidal questions that I really don’t want to answer. I wasn’t depressed or anything, but those questions just made me uncomfortable and depressed.

“Maybe not. It’s just a cut,” I said reassuring her. She looked at her wrist and sighed.

“What if another one appears?” Eli asked me. Before I could answer, Mom and Dad came in our room, followed by Bryce and Cris.

“Show me your wrist,” Dad demanded. We showed him our wrists without resistance. He sighed and looked at Mom.

“They have one too,” he said, unpleased by the finding.

“Michael, what’s going on here. Why does my family have these strange scars?” Mom asked. Dad shrugged.

“We have one too. Does anyone remember what we were doing to get these?” Dad asked. We shook our heads.

“I’ll call Nick,” Dad said.

“Do you think he has one?” Mom asked.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Dad said. Mom sighed and looked at us.

“What does this mean?” Cris asked. Mom sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose with her forefinger and thumb, thinking.

“I don’t know,” she finally said. She looked at my bedside clock.

“Get dressed. We don’t want to be late for school. I want all of you to hide these scars and don’t tell anyone about them, not even your friends. I don’t want the Children Protection Service coming here and taking you guys away just for strange scars,” Mom said. We nodded and quickly got dressed. I wore a long sleeved shirt and a slap bracelet to cover the rest of the cut. I sighed and tried not to think about the cut as I washed up and hurried downstairs.

School seemed to be a bit…jumpy.
Kids, even teachers, seemed to be on the edge. Why? They also had the same cuts, I felt it in my gut. They are scared what the other would say. I was one of them though. I spotted Jenna at her locker. She wore a sweater, even though it was warm outside.

“Hey Jen,” I said. She started and turned quickly.

“Whoa, didn’t mean to scare you,” I told her.

“Sorry, just a bit…jumpy today,” she said hesitantly. She looked around and then took a quick glance at her wrist.

“You got a cut also?” I asked. She looked at me surprised.

“How did you know,” she whispered. I showed her my wrist. She gasped and looked at my face again.

“Where did they come from?” she asked. I shrugged.

“I don’t know but I don’t like it. My whole family has it,” I told her.

“Mines too. Something is up. Did we got bitten by vampires or something,” she asked me.

“No, if we were, then we would be blood sucking vampires. I think it’s something different,” I said looking at my cut. Artemis came running toward us and quickly began to tell us something in sign language, but neither Jenna or I could understand her.

“Sign clearly Artie, we can’t understand you,” I said. Artemis took a deep breath and pointed at her left wrist.

“We have the same thing,” Jenna said. She sighed in relief.

Do you think we got abducted by aliens, because I noticed Mr. Ashton and a few others with the same cuts. Even my family, she signed. I shrugged and looked at Jenna and translated to her.

“Maybe she’s on to something,” Jenna said. The bell rang signaling the start of first period. We went to our classrooms, still puzzled about what was going on.

Mr. Ashton didn’t seemed like he was in the mood in teaching. He just wasn’t into the subject. He looked at each and everyone of us. I think he noticed something on our faces because he smiled and placed the chalk down.

“By a show of hands, who here found something odd?” he asked. I looked around the room. Nobody raised their hand, to scared what the others would say. Then Mr. Ashton rolled up his left sleeve and showed it to us. The scar.

“Now, by a show of hands, who found this when they woke up this morning?” he asked. Everyone raised their hands.

“What do you think this means?” Heather Blanche asked. Mr. Ashton shrugged.

“What do you think. Before it meant someone is in deep depression, or like what you guys say, ‘Emo‘,” he said putting quotations around Emo.

“Are we all Emo?” I asked.

“That’s a good question. Are we? Did anyone did this to yourselves on purpose. I swear I won’t tell anyone,” he said. Nobody raised their hands.

“So what do you think this scar means?” he asked.

“It means our God just committed suicide,”

We all turned toward the back of the class, where a boy sat. I never noticed him before.

“Excuse me, are you in this class?” Mr. Ashton asked.

“No, but I’m the one who caused the cuts,” he said. He had his head bowed, his black hoody up, so we couldn’t see his face. He showed us his left wrist, which was bleeding profusely. Mr. Ashton got up and hurried up toward him.

“Your to late Mr. Ashton. I’m already dead,” the boy said. We all stared at him.

“What are you talking about?” Kylie Brynn demanded.

“Your little world will end in seven hours and thirteen minutes. I did this about seven hours ago, so that means you have a few minutes left,” the boy said and smiled.

“What are you talking about?” Mr. Ashton demanded.

“I created this world,” the boy said, looking up. I gasped. He looked like my Dad, but at a younger age.

“I couldn’t cope with the real world. Then one day, snap,” he said snapping his fingers, “I don’t know if my parents found my body or not, but I really don’t care. I’m just glad I’m not there anymore. Go on, teach the class…hold up. Do you guys hear that?” he asked. We were quiet. Then the sky began to cloud over.

“I think hell is calling me. Night,” the boy said and left the room. We all looked out the window. Flashes of lightning brightened the sky, shutting off our power. Screams echoed the school as students and teachers panicked. Mr. Ashton told the class to stay where they were and hurried out into the hall. Then an explosion went off somewhere. Oh god what’s happening? I hurried toward the window and looked outside. Buildings began to sway as the wind began to blow. I looked back at my classmates. Three were one the floor, unmoving and pale.

“Their dead. Mr.…” then Amy fell on the floor. Buildings began to collapse. Others began to explode. A loud gusting wind vibrated the windows as the time went. I hurried out into the hall where some kids were. Some began to drop dead. A howling wind picked up shattering glass from my classroom. I looked at my left wrist. It was bleeding. It was…

“Michael…Michael wake up…Oh god. Dad! DAD!”