Trevor Collins

I started pounding on the door, screaming her name and pointing behind her, but it was too late.

She turned around just in time to see her students swarming her.

They ran at her from all directions, growling and gnashing their teeth.

Their faces were contorted into masks of rage as they engulfed her.

Eyes turned bloodshot red as claws slashed at her skin.

The last image I saw was of Megan, staring at me in terror as her students ripped her apart.

I looked away as her body was torn to pieces and consumed, unable to watch any longer.

This school has been founded as an effort to domesticate a new generation of children infected with a virus in hopes that they could have a future.

Those few of us immune were assigned to work here, but being immune didn't mean there was no danger.

The protocol existed for a reason.

I stood there silently as the children were subdued and the hallway was cleansed.

What happened to Megan was tragic and would stay with me forever.

But in a strange way, I guess she got her wish.

She'd never get old and jaded after all.

God, I really fucking hate this job.

Yeah.

Yeah, I mean, that part's so real, especially for teachers, especially the gripes he's talking about.

They're so real, and this story is built on a foundation of truth, so you start to take it at face value.

You trust it.

This is a seven-year tenured teacher who started with the same attitude as Megan, but now is old and jaded, right?