It was October 1st, 2003. Chase sat at his desk, absently clicking his pen as the classroom buzzed softly with the sound of silence. complete silence. his brain started to make him think.... think of thoughts no teenager should think of

Murder.

The thought was intrusive, vivid, and completely alien. He’d never entertained it before. Now it consumed him in startling detail: his mother, lifeless on the living room floor, a kitchen knife in his trembling hand. The image felt disturbingly real.

he just blinked, shaking his head as though to physically dislodge the thought. The gory vision lingered, leaving a hollow unease in its wake. He was pretty much used to these thoughts, yet unsure where they actually came from.