TICK TOCK

"Who remembers what Pythagoras theorem states?" Mr. Gulliver, the Maths teacher glances up, peering at us from beneath his thick-rimmed glasses, his hand covered with a thin layer of chalk as he wrote the formulae down on the blackboard.

Shifting on the seat uncomfortably, I sigh. If you didn't know, maths is very, very boring. It would have been bearable, if Mr. Gulliver made an effort, even a tiny amount, to make the subject somewhat interesting. Was it even legal to have a sixty year old man with fading eyesight, hearing problems and terrible backache, teach a bunch of teenagers?

Leaning back, I glance around the room to see that none of the students were even paying attention. Quarter, if not half of them, had fallen asleep, leaning back on their seats with closed eyes, their mouths hanging slightly open. I swear an adventurous fly could whizz in and out with ease. Pulling out my phone, I check the time, 10.09.

There's no way I've only been here for ten minutes.

Lifting my gaze, I meet Jemma's soft stare, before turning away quickly. As much as I've liked her for years, approaching her seemed more difficult than the maths Mr. Gulliver was teaching.

I'm not good with girls, never been on a date, let alone had a girlfriend.

Trying to concentrate on the math equations scribbled on my book, I buy my time by doing the equations slowly, writing random numbers before erasing, snatching fleeting looks at the clock every now and then. Surprisingly, even his dull voice never managed to send me to sleep and soon enough the bell rang. Grabbing my books, I dash out, not waiting for the handouts he was inevitably going to give us.

"Nicolas! Wait up!" Jack wheezes a few feet from me, jogging to catch up with my long strides. Jack's that one scrawny kid with oversized turtle glasses that seem to constantly slip down his nose. Despite him having glasses, he fails pretty much any test given to him. He's pretty chilled most of the time, always ready to give a laugh even if your joke is drier than the Sahara desert. "Christ," He breathes finally walking beside me, panting. "I should give you a nickname.", he says before giving a rather vulgar comment. Another fact about him, he can't form a sentence without swearing at least six times, well maybe four times. But still...

"Just cause you're unfit doesn't mean I have long legs." I smirk heading into Geography class.

Mr. Henry is already sitting on his desk, peeling a tangerine, deep in thought, unaware by the noise and chatter erupting all around him. This is why I love Geography. Mr. Henry is pretty much the epitome of a perfectly laid-back teacher. Instead of making us write out a library's worth of notes about old rocks and waves, he takes us on school trips, copies handouts and give little, to no homework. Heck, he even used a saw to cut open a limestone to show us the layers inside.

He doesn't make learning 'fun', no one can do that I assure you, but he makes it bearable.

After school, I head over to my writing class. Tom, Jack and I hang out, filling pages with worlds, universes and stories, pausing only to take a quick bite before resuming our passion. Filling the waste paper basket with crumpled dreams as we go. Time flies when you're enjoying yourself, and soon the hour hand has ticked to 5 o'clock. Stuffing my papers into my bag, I wave them goodbye before walking round to where bikes were kept.

Rusty stood obediently where I had left him (yes I named my bike...), it looked pretty old locked between bunches of new, shiny, mountain bikes. Most of the gears didn't work and the brakes were barely usable at the best of times. Unlocking the padlock, I led her onto the relatively quiet road. Hiking up, I began my journey back home using the usual route, around the block, over the bridge, through the forest and over the hill.

I loved this route. It was my route. It was my world, and I was the only one in it. No one knew about it, the path created by my constant rides along it for years. As I approached the bridge I lightly adjusted my speed, preparing for the unforgiving small bump that usually made for an undignified crash landing.

I hit it just right and as I descend the gradual slope after the bridge, gaining speed. This was the best part of the ride. The wheels went faster and faster, the world faded into raw beauty and speed as I felt the cool breeze smack my cheeks, the harsh sound whistling in my ears. As my speedometer hit 30 mph I dangerously took one hand off the handlebars and pointed it at the sky, spreading my fingers wide feeling the wind kiss the skin between, drying them to flakes.

This is what I lived for. I applied the brakes at the last second and nearly hit the curb. The bike jerked forward lurching me nearly off it.Typical me, living on the edge.

Wrestling with the handlebars I righted the bike's course and carried on. The forest came into view. Tall, green, pine trees lined the road, somewhat caving into me, blocking the sun rays from piercing through. The path gradually turned dark, small streaks of light landing on the rocks and leaves.

As I cycled, my face reflected off a roadside puddle, illuminated by the dull orange glow of a nearby streetlight, it was dark and now I felt truly alone. The torch on my bike revealed small abandoned pebbles and rocks, left seemingly undisturbed and abandoned for all eternity. The evergreen leaves of the pine trees swayed gently in the evening breeze. I felt at peace here, even in the near darkness.

I went at a gentle pace, regaining my stamina from a previous hill. After battling the steep final hill which led to an embarrassing loss of control and me sprawling off my bike, I stopped my bike and wheeled it in, not bothering to close the gate behind me. No one would come in anyway. The next house was miles away. Securing my bike in the garage, I entered the house, stomping my converse trainers on the mat.

"I'm home!" Silence greeted me as the words echoed from the walls eerily. The house was dark, warm orange glows peering from behind the drawn curtains.

"Mum?" Stepping further inside, I realised that something seemed off. Perhaps it was the screaming sound of silence in my ears, or the broken lilac vase that lay shattered in the hall, the tulips scattered a few feet away, water still dripping from their petals. Involuntarily , a shiver rippled through me. It wasn't physically cold, but cold of motion. As if someone abandoned this place suddenly. "Weird." Muttering to myself, I walk down the hallway pushing doors open and looking around.

No one.

"Mom I'm home!" I try again, answered by the slow drip of water from the kitchen sink.

I shouted again feeling dread settle deep in my core. "Mom!"

Nothing.

"This isn't funny..." I try to keep my tone light but fear laces it tightly. "Seriously, stop playing games."

Silence.

Now I was worried.

Approaching the white-painted pine door that led to my living room slowly, ignoring the now seemingly new creaking of the floorboards, as if somehow I was unaware of its menacing tone before. My hand touched the cool metal of the handle and I twisted it gently, opening the door.