TW: phantom shifts, memory flash, blood I'm hoping to get this published and spread awareness!! Please advertise if possible- your support means a lot to me! First period, English class. The clock ticked on and on, inching towards the next class. Mr. Patel was saying something about the difference between simile and metaphor. But Jordan wasn’t paying attention. The back of his head was beginning to itch again. It wasn’t the same kind of itch as a mosquito bite; it was a softer, fainter feeling, but it was still strong enough to be disorienting. The strangest thing was the way the itch had a shape. It was triangular and pointed, like a cat’s ears, but smaller. He reached up to scratch it, but it didn’t help. His fingertips began to tingle as well. No, no, no, not now! He thought frantically. But the feeling was spreading. He felt it on his face, and on his teeth, and on his lower back. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on the lesson, but it didn’t help. The itches were so strong. He looked down at his hands, and for a moment he thought he saw brown fur and white paws. His heart dropped, but the illusion disappeared as Mr. Patel slapped a ruler on Jordan’s desk. “Mister Osterson,” he said sternly. “I asked you a question. Why might someone choose to use a metaphor rather than a simile?” “I, uh,” Jordan croaked. Someone poked him from behind. He didn’t look, but he grabbed the piece of paper she was holding out. He opened it under his desk and read it aloud. “Metaphors sound stronger. They can evoke more emotions than a simple comparison.” Mr. Patel sighed. “Good enough. Thank you, Jordan.” He walked back to the front of the room and resumed teaching. Jordan released the breath he’d been holding. He glanced behind him, and the girl behind him gave him an encouraging thumbs up, mouthing “You’re welcome!” “Thanks, Taylor,” he whispered back, smiling. The itch began again as he looked away from his best friend. It continued, getting stronger and stronger. Suddenly, he was in the snow, staining it red, cold, painful, weak. He flashed back to reality, clutching his chest, and breathing heavily. He saw a few students nearby give him concerned looks. He glared at them each in turn and they looked away. The rest of class passed by slowly, like trekking through the desert, but finally, the bell rang for classes to switch, and he gratefully sped out the door, towards his favorite class. Art. Next:
