Red Scars Run Deep

This is my original story that I've been working on for ages. If you read this, please comment please please please with a cherry on top?! Thanks!

Chapter 3

Midnight Realisation

After almost a lifetime of sleeping in the same bed, a new one is unsettling. I can't sleep despite the tiring day, and I toss and turn, hoping not to wake anyone else. Even if you have a nightmare and cry out in your sleep, nobody is sympathetic here. Girls in my dorm frequently beat each other up, so even though I'm the oldest, I'm by no means the strongest and I wouldn't dare make a noise. I just hold my breath and will sleep to wash over me.
In the lazy, drowsy state between wakefulness and slumber, a foggy thought forms in my mind. It gathers reason like a rolling stone. Suddenly, I sit bolt upright, dumb with disbelief. Holding my breath, I roll over and with my thumb, I trace the words etched into the wall by the unknown boy.

The lines are clean and sharp. Tyrone Jr - whoever he is, as I don't recognise the name - has carved carefully. He has carved the words in, not with a fingernail or a wooden edge, but a knife. I can tell this because only a knife could fom lines like this. Whoever this kid is, he has - or at least, had - a knife.

A knife, if found on a pupil, warrants a punishment of death. It makes sense, because if a Bornbad gets their hands on a knife, they could cause absolute chaos. My heart pounds in my chest as I think of the horrible possibilities. I mean, we're born bad. We can't be trusted with weapons! Tyrone Jr must have stolen it somehow, and I should turn him in. He could kill people with a knife, I tell myself, because Bornbads like me have the potential to do awful things like that. I have to tell of my suspicions to the Staff. I could go right now, get out of bed, walk down the lonely corridors into Mr Oblovski and tell him my thoughts. I imagine myself facing the Headmaster himself, telling him that a child herte could be armed. They would reward me, maybe even give me extra food portions. Lying down, tired after my thoughts, I tell myself that I should be responsible, that this is a chance to be good. This is a chance to prove myself to Mr Oblovski, who has never been my biggest fan.

But of course I won't turn Tyrone in. I can't voice my suspicions, because as well as being a weapon, a knife can be a tool. A tool for escape. And if I can find this Tyrone kid, maybe I can blackmail him, and I could somehow be free. This is sort of too good - and weird - to be true. I hope I'm not dreaming. I'll find out in the morning, I guess.

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