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Break just ended, skin slick with sweat, your breath coming out in soft pants. Your football team had practiced over breaktime, which meant tackling, matches, drills and skills. And now, you're sat in maths class.

The walls are practically blank and bland, just like the subject. Well, minus the weak attempt atop the whiteboard that read MATHS IS FUN in grey, capital, block-like letters. Desks are evenly placed in rows. You and your best friend, Shauna, are lucky to have the desks at the very back of the classroom. Though there is space between you two, an exact amount of half a meter, it's still a lucky space.

A small window sat high up the white, bricked walls, hard to reach. If you were to try and climb out of there, you'd have to crawl or squish out. Not that you'd have to do that though..

Right?

Over the past thirty minutes, you've just gotten playful flirty notes from Shauna and little quiet giggles. Nothing unusual. You barely paid attention. Maths wasn't your strong suit anyways. Until something caught your ear. You're teacher, Mr. Walsh, was repeating the same phrase over and over again.

"He is here."

Over and over again. Your classmates looked freaked out, all looking around at each other.

"He is here."

You looked down at your maths copy, half-finished algebra sums written in. Each number per box. One number per box. That's what Mr. Walsh would say. But when you looked down, in smudged red ink (or what you hoped was red ink) read:

Get Out. You Need To Get Out.