Don't fight your school librarian

Well, you might expect, I was telling my tale to you the way the cliche-est thing that happens on fiction stories.

A boy in school, middle of a boring discussion, helplessly tossing papers, or staring the nothingness. If that's what you think, I'm sorry, you're right.

The only thing that makes my story different is that I wasn't blessed by Eros of romance, nor gifted as Apollo on his comedic and poetic skills (love you sir). I was cursed. Yes, cursed then blah blah going to quest blah blah blah fighting blah blah.

Well, my apologies! That's my life. Don't ever try to wish for it. A dangerous, deadly life full of quest, adventures, and success. I never asked for it. But that's what the Moirai had planned. Meh. I should narrate all about me. But here's a tip, if something haunts you or something is weird around you, you should'nt call for 911 or any emergency hotlines. Just run.

BTW, I'm Phil Dasovich and here's my myth on how the world almost ended.

Sitting on a dreadful class discussion is where it all starts. What is new? Boring sessions of History classes always makes me dizzy. Science and Maths, uhmm quite of... making my brain explode. Literature? Gosh, no. My dyslexic ass never helps me. The only thing that makes my life fun? PE.

You may tell me that I am a super athletic high school student with bulging muscles and sweaty shirts. But eh, none of the above. I'm just a thin human, with fair skin and NO muscular biceps.

I only loved PE, for it keeps my body on-the-go. I wished I never attended school. PE's are only available on Fridays. What's worse? The school coach is always absent. What you'd expect on a grumpy 90 year old PE coach? Arthritis. It sucks.

Living in a normal life, makes my life so dull. I was blended with everybody. One thing that makes me stand out, is my curly blond hair that makes my look a pasta wig, and freckles on my cheeks, my visuals. Unlike everyone, retro inspired aesthetic adorned my outfit. White longsleeve, layered by extra large shirts, above the knee Khaki shorts, chains hanging on my waist, long socks, and converse high cut shoes.

Definition of a normal, fashionable kid. A cute little boy.

Not preyed by bullies, not a famous kid, not dork, not brainy, uhm yep a super normal kid.

Did I say normal? Well, not actually, but kind of. Not when you always get an A+ remarks even though you only sleeps in class or getting pizza deliveries even though we don't actually order it (sometimes yes, but darn it, we always get the Hawaiian one). Sheer luck? I don't think so. Something's really weird.

Once when I am six, playing alone in the park, three old ladies owning a fruit stand is quietly weaving threads. Oww, tell me it's not weird seing old ladies cross-stitching at the park, probably, taking siestas. But hold on, they are only looming and snipping threads and the leftovers are disappearing quickly.

Cold air blew across the acre of the park. I ran. Are they ghosts? I don't know. They're looking at me, keeping through my pace, with the scissors open wide, ready to cut a thread. A short thread. When suddenly, I felt myself running through a crossroad.

I gasped. I cannot move a muscle. I, a small boy, in the middle of the road. A truck is running towards at a high speed. I can only see the scene. I felt like I am paralyzed. I heard a motion behind me. Someone's running. Will they save me, run while carrying me,or stop the truck with their bare hands, like a superhero?

No. The mystery person only pushed me. I felt an electric repulsion towards my body. I fell to the other side of the road. I'm saved. I- I went to look for the person that saved me. I assumed that, my savior was a guy with a complex body structure, a superman. But my trembling eyes cannot see one.

The truck, the pavement, and a child, a bloody child caught my eye. A female child. Adrenaline pushed me to stand and run, but I was late. People crowded the scene.

Running with one foot, does not help me with the situation. I peeped, but people are blocking my sight.

The next thing that happened is something that usually happens when there's an accident. Sirens bellowing along the place, megaphones, and police lines pushing the citizens away is what you can see.

I felt numb. Until someone pulled me to a building. A woman covered with black veil and cloak. That one was weird.

Is she the Death? I expected something grimmier but this was worse. She has no scythe but a walking crane like my evil grandma had.

We stopped at the opening of a cathedral. Why would death stop here? She removed her veil, revealing an evil woman in her 70's. She was my grandma. I got angrier, until she spoke.

"Hold your grudges dear. Lol. Let me guess who you see. Your lola?", she said happily. I wanted to slap her. "Well child, what you see is normal. It was her fate. And nothing could stop that," she added, pointing to the aisle of a mall's parking lot. Three old ladies sitting still, holding a loom, a pair of scissors, and a set of thread. The scissors, ready to slice the thread into two. And snip. Two small thread floated on the oldest looking lady's hand.

"No," I mumbled, trying to recollect things.

"Yes," my lola said.

Then the memory faded. A police voice echoed to my brain saying, "Charlotte Reyes, dead, 3:01 pm,"

The class alarm rang. I carried my head heavily from my folded hands on my desk. I just slept on my History Examinations. My classmates, nailed their faces on their papers.

"Five more minutes kids!", Mr. Hero Dotus shouted.

Seeing my test paper made my heart fell. I never answered a thing! "Phillip Dasovich", shimmered on the top of my test paper. Gods, this is my last exam this term, and if i fail to ace it... my scholarship...

I encircled the choices, without looking at the questions. Intertwining my fingers, I prayed that my teacher would suspend this examination or anything that would give me time.

The bell rang. My heart skipped a beat. This will be the end of the Mighty Phillip. Tf. Normally our class bell only rings for 20 seconds but this time it rang longer.

"Children, that was an emergency. There was a fire in the Chemistry Laboratory. Mercury drugs were spilled. Let's go quietly," our history teacher said.

My classmates yelled, some were disappointed, some were glad. Me? Oh thank the gods. I did not feel anything except luck, not alarmed by the situation either. They could extinguish it. I packed my things, quietly.

"Calm down, you brats! We could just finish it later. Everybody proceed to the field. No pushing, like Daedelus pushed Perdix, nor stampede like what happened when Pan cried. Be in line, please," our History teacher said. He then looked at me, "As for you Mr. Dasovich, let's meet at the school playground." He then left and went to the faculty.

Shocked. For the first time in my high school life, Hero talked to me (except when he said "Shut up" when I said History is boring), yet, he is asking me to come with him at the school playground.

I packed my things. My classmates, lined up and left the room quietly. Pacing with the commotion, scaredy nervous Phil, ran through panicked children and teachers. Everybody was exiting through the main door. The smokes and fumes are getting thicker. I can barely breath the smell is choking my lungs out.

I reached the faculty, tripping. I saw no signs of Mr. Dotus, but an old woman with a hunch on her back. It was Ariella, our school librarian who favors cursing and whipping when someone is getting nosy in her area.

The room was dim. The only source of light was the windom sill. I closed the door to prevent the smoke from entering.

"Very good, my boy," her raspy old voice said. She reminds me of the goblin that always says "my precious". I felt tingles on my back.

"Maam, we should go outside. It's dangerous whe-," I could not continue what I was suppose to say.

I was extremely shocked. Ariella twitched her body, revealing old soggy skin covered with warts and exposed flesh. From her back, emerged two pairs of bat wings. Goos covered her hands. This is beyond normal.

"You want to know what else is dangerous? Well, it's me!" the woman said. She laughed ferociously like an old dying dog trying to gasp air. I went to grab the nearest weapon I can see; a stapler, baseball bat, and a printer. And guess what, I settled for the printer.