Chapter 4: Food Fight

Solomon's hand gripped the table as he made eye contact with Peppi and Felicity, who were already facing the door. He promised himself he would make it out alive even as he tried to figure out a way to save his friends. They were sitting close to the back, those sitting closer would take the first shots, they might have a chance if they could get to the door first.

He chided himself for thinking about the rest of the student-body so callously. Was it wrong to defend yourself and friends first?

The taller kid reached a scar covered arm into the dust covered bag and pulled out a giant bottle of ketchup."FOOD FIGHT!" he yelled at the top of his lungs.

With that, the cafeteria erupted into pandemonium. "You know what. This food does suck!" Screamed Felicity as she charged into the fray. Solomon just watched in horror as a variety of condiments rained down onto his favorite blue button-down shirt and khaki pants.

"How depressing!" he sighed into the chaos. No sooner had he said it, than he looked down at his sub to find what appeared to be a human eyeball. He shuddered internally. 'It's just PTSD,' he thought to himself. They told you this would happen. But he blinked his eyes and the eye on the table didn't go away. The food and noise reached a climax. He could see administrators watching through the windows, waiting for the students to wear themselves out. So far, nobody seemed to be hurt.

He nudged the eye with his thumb. It looked real. He picked it up and looked at it. Blueish, with green at the middle. It was definitely human. He dropped it nervously. There was something sinister going on in the chaos he could sense. He picked the eyeball up and put it in an empty sandwich bag. Finally the school administrators started giving instructions over the intercom. Oh yes. They were all in big trouble!

Those that had participated had been videotaped, the voice insisted. As the energy died down, people were pulling chips out of their hair, and mayonnaise out of their eyes. Some students were laughing as they continued eating. How many human remains were in the cafeteria at this moment? Solomon noticed the food on the floor seemed to fall into a pattern. He hopped up on the chair to give himself a better view.

'God I hope this is just PTSD.' He said to himself. The pattern finally came into focus. The pattern he had been looking for all day. With all the chaos in the cafeteria, how had the food fallen into that EXACT shape and symbol? Now that he could see it again he pulled his phone out with a stored napkin and took a picture. Again, it was fuzzy. His stomach turned. Something felt completely unnatural about all this. His body was shaking from the fear.

He looked over at Patrick who hadn't moved the entire food fight and was eyeballing the one gang member like a snake, ready to strike. Solomon's hands could barely hold the phone. There was a wrongness in the air he couldn't put into words. In just a matter of seconds teachers and administrators were yelling at everyone and breaking up the scene.

Solomon tried desperately to sketch the symbol before they were all pushed out of the cafeteria and lined up outside the detention office. He shoved it into his pockets, his legs shaking so bad he almost couldn't stand.

It was real, he told himself. It was real. Peppi could see that he needed a hand, and was there to support him and pat him on the back. "It's OK, Solomon, just breathe. We can talk about it later."

"It was real," he said. "It was all real."

Later that night, Solomon was alone thinking through all the crap that had happened in the last week. The wrinkled sketch he had saved from the lunchroom sat on his desk as he desperately attempted to find any information about it online. His mother didn't have any useful information either. Or if she did, she wouldn't tell him. He wondered if she was just trying not to scare him with the details. Before he left for school she made an ominous comment about taking some time off. Was she scared?

Hours of searches on every search engine and social media site he could think of had only returned a few vague references to the Ars Goetia. The symbol seemed to be demonic, but he had only found a single reference to it. An abuse survivor had sketched it and posted it in a support thread. That thread led him to a discussion on satanic rituals and magic that had an almost identical symbol, but the next time he tried to access the website it was down.

He didn't know if he was losing his mind until he happened to find an archive of the site that included yet another link to a Darkweb page. This one included the full file, though. The original poster only wrote one message and it said: "This is it. This eBook will give anybody that reads it real magic. I haven't been the same since." Two other posters replied to the thread and said they were reading it and having 'positive' results. One in the area of 'women' and the other in the area of 'financial freedom and lifestyle enrichment.'

The symbol on the cover seemed to match, but he didn't have time to open it. He was just about to head to bed, when a crashing sound split through their two story Tudor-style house.

"MOM!" He screamed. "Mom!" He screamed at the top of his lungs as he descended the partially collapsed staircase to their kitchen.

"I'm here! I'm here!" She called out in pain. "I can't move my legs!"

The electricity pole had come right through their house and landed squarely on his mother.

"I can breathe. I just can't move my legs." She said reassuringly. "I think your father's shrine stopped the beam." A quick glance to the wooden shrine in the corner confirmed this fact. It had crumpled under the weight, but taken most of the force.

"Stay calm, mom. I'm getting help," he said with a hoarse voice.

The next three hours were a mixture of ambulance rides, doctor's notes, and IV lines. He fell asleep in the waiting room as she went into surgery.