I've just learned something about successfully cutting out shapes from a thin layer of polymer clay, and I wish I'd seen this years ago. I've struggled before with lifting the pieces up without distorting them, but the worst is when the piece comes up with the cutter and then has to be pried out. Here's what I just noticed: the right surface makes ALL the difference. These days, I have two different kinds of surfaces for baking my clay: little granite slabs and smooth porcelain tiles.
When I was using the porcelain tiles, I had no trouble at all cutting out the shapes. I could press the cutter in, get my little circles (making buttons!) and then peel away the rest of the layer with no bother at all. I could also use my acrylic roller over the top to smooth out any uneven bits after adding the button holes.
However, when I switched to the granite slabs, I had major problems. Every piece lifted up with the cutter, and if I used the acrylic roller, the pieces all just stuck to the roller and came with it.
I believe that the smooth texture of the porcelain gives more grip to the clay, so it stays in place. The granite has a more matte texture, so it's not clinging to the clay at all.
Lesson learned!
p.s. Both the granite and the tile are great for safely finishing a piece and then getting it baked-- no need to lift it off a work surface, and if you have multiples, you can make a little sandwich and your piece will stay nice and flat.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
Creole dangled that final favor over my head for a few weeks. He didn’t summon me or even contact me as if he was dragging out my final task until he truly felt like doing so. While it annoyed me, I eventually found it to be a blessing. It allowed me to process everything that had happened to me and recharge my batteries. I also did my best to avoid mirrors after my hotel ordeal with my corrupted reflection. Every time I even passed a mirror it felt like at any moment she burst through the mirror and rip me into pieces.
After almost 3 weeks of silence from Creole, I was sitting home alone, having agreed to help my parents fill out their taxes while they continued to work themselves to the bone. I didn’t exactly know what I was doing but I figured that no one ever really knows what they’re doing when they fill out a tax form. I was in the process of chewing the end of my eraser when our doorbell rang.
Now I’m usually the type of person who never answers the door when the doorbell rings. If I don’t know that you’re coming over beforehand then I ain’t answering the door. But something about this doorbell felt different. And after all, I wasn’t getting anywhere with my parent’s tax forms; other than the feeling of dread with how badly we were faring even with both of them working two jobs. So I stood up from the kitchen table and made my way over to the door.
“Jacob?” I asked with surprise and a bit of shock when I saw the bellboy standing at my door. He waved to me happily and then reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope, handing it to me. I took it from him and was greeted by the familiar handwriting that Creole’s notes carried. “Why didn’t he just call me?” I asked Jacob, forgetting that Creole’s bellboy was now a mute. He simply pointed at the envelope. I looked down at it, opened it, and began to read.
“Mace! So sorry that I’m not able to call you. I’m currently out of town on a business trip. But this is the perfect opportunity for your final favor! Jacob is here to lead you to the shop where I’ve left further instructions. And don’t worry about anyone seeing y’all. Not like anyone will believe ya if you told em. Best regards, K.C.”
That last sentence felt like a threat. It was something that existed constantly in the back of my mind. Especially after I found out that Creole had the police in his pocket. It was best to just grit my teeth, get this final favor done, and never have to think of Ol’ King Creole’s Half Priced Voodoo Store ever again.
“Just give me a minute to get my things,” I told Jacob. He nodded quickly and gave me a thumbs-up. He was such a different person now that it was scary. I hadn’t known Jacob well in high school but seeing him like this caused me to feel sorry for him. He certainly didn’t deserve this, it wasn’t his fault that I had gotten stabbed by one of his customers. And yet it was my fault that he was now a servant of the same monster that held my own life in his gloved hands.
I allowed Jacob into the house while I headed upstairs, followed by the thoughts that filled me with guilt over what had happened to him. I applied more of Creole’s ointment so that my scar and stitches would continue to be hidden. I gathered my lockpicking tools and my pepper spray and finally joined Jacob downstairs. He was busy looking at the pictures hung up on my wall and when he noticed me he quickly spun on his heels and gave me a salute, a cheery smile on his stitched-up mouth.
“Let’s just get this over with,” I told him, barely able to stand his overly cheery demeanor. He nodded and followed me outside. I locked the door and followed him as he led me toward the voodoo store. As I followed Jacob, I took the letter he had given me and started reading it again. Something was bothering me.
“Where the hell does he need to go to be on a business trip?” I asked Jacob, again as if the mute bellboy could answer me. He shrugged his shoulders as he continued down the sidewalk. I looked back down at the letter and suddenly got a terrible feeling about something. Were there other freaks like Creole? If one freak exists, it only makes sense that others also exist. This horrible line of thought was abruptly halted when I walked into Jacob. I was about to get pissed at him but then I realized that we’d arrived at the voodoo shop.
“Oh,” I said, my cheeks getting warm with embarrassment. I had been so absorbed in my thoughts that we’d arrived in record time. Jacob just smiled and opened the door for me, I mouthed a quick thanks and entered the shop hoping to leave my embarrassment outside. Every voodoo doll quickly turned to look at me as soon as I entered. I quickly held my hands up to show them that it was me, and Jacob entering the store behind me put them all at ease. I guessed that they were some sort of security system for when their boss was away.
Jacob led me to Creole’s office and as we passed the basement door whatever was down there quickly began pounding at the door. It surprised me so badly that I screamed and quickly rushed past Jacob toward the office, putting as much distance as I could from the creature in the basement. I entered Creole’s office and quickly sat myself down on the comfy chair where I had received my life-saving surgery from Creole. Jacob followed after me and closed the door behind us.
He went behind Creole’s desk and began searching for something. I meanwhile finally took full notice of Creole’s office, since the last time I had been there I had been on death’s door. His office was filled with photos with a grand majority of them being scratched out in some way. All except one on his desk. I reached out and grabbed the picture frame to look at it. It was an old black-and-white photo of a man and a woman.
“Is that…” I held the photo closer to my eyes to examine it. The man was tall with messy black hair. “Creole?” I whispered to myself as the figure in the picture was a dead-ringer for Creole. Of course minus the button eyes and stitches across his mouth and neck. Just as I was about to examine the woman, the photo was suddenly snatched from my hands. I just about had a heart attack thinking that Creole had somehow returned and taken it from me. But it was only Jacob with more of my directions.
“Right, sorry,” I told him as I accepted the couple of pieces of paper he handed to me. There were Creole’s usual doodles of what I had to retrieve though these were the strangest ones yet. Though thinking back now it certainly seemed hard to top a clock that caused you to decay and a mirror that creates a horror version of yourself.
Creole wanted me to steal some sort of file and a porcelain doll. The porcelain doll made sense, the wall of voodoo dolls was enough to prove Creole’s obsession with dolls. But the file was what interested me more. What exactly did he want that for? Was it some sort of haunted file or something? I looked at the next page which was another letter. Why he couldn’t have just told me everything in the first letter was lost to me.
“Mace! By now Jacob should’ve given you the target of my current desire. After you’ve finished reading this and are ready to begin your final favor he’ll take you to your target. And I’m sure you’re dying to know where it is. It’s in a lovely Massachusetts mansion! The owner rarely ever goes there anymore so it should be a walk in the park for you! Just this last favor and you can finally go free.” He didn’t bother signing this one, but I could care less. The third paper appeared to be completely blank, so I just shoved that into my pocket with everything else.
“Well, I guess I’m ready,” I told Jacob as I stood up. He nodded and reached into his pocket. He rummaged around in there for a moment before he pulled out a key. The bow of it was a skull, which probably meant that it was a skeleton key of some sort. I’m sure Creole had gotten a kick out of it for that reason. The bellboy inserted the key into Creole’s office door and turned it. Before my eyes and Jacob’s buttons, the door began to morph and change into a much more ornate and fancier one. The golden initials CS were stamped onto each door and Jacob swung the door open for me.
“Wish me luck,” I said as he handed to key to me. I assumed so I could make a quick escape if the situation called for it. He held a thumbs up and waved goodbye to me as I stepped through the doors.
I had to blink my eyes furiously after entering the mansion as I was blasted with natural lighting that blinded me when compared to the dimly lit voodoo shop. This place was massive, from a giant chandelier above my head, to massive windows that let in plenty of sunlight into the mansion. But even despite its grandeur it felt, cold. Both in temperature and in feeling. It was the beginning of fall but even so, there wasn’t any reason for it to be this cold. Cold enough to see my breath. I shivered as I took my few steps forward into the mansion.
Right at the entrance next to the grand staircase was a giant family portrait of who I at first assumed were the owners of this massive palace. But judging by the clothes the woman was wearing and the style of suit the older man was wearing I quickly judged that they must be some kind of ancestors. The woman and man both had their hands on the boy in front of them. The mother and I assumed her son both had blonde hair, while the father had thick brown hair with a giant mustache.
“Where would this file be?” I wondered to myself after a moment of staring at the giant portrait. I reached into my pocket to try and find something in Creole’s notes. And to my surprise, the previously blank sheet of paper had suddenly transformed into a map of the mansion. To my surprise the file wasn’t located upstairs but in a downstairs office. Armed with this knowledge, I started making my way towards it, checking the map every so often so that I wouldn’t become lost in the maze of hallways and rooms that this mansion possessed.
The cold started getting to me as I shivered uncontrollably and vapors of breath poured from my mouth. The quicker I got this over with the better, not only as my final favor but because I wasn’t about to have myself catch a cold over this. Finally, I made it to the correct door. I tried to turn the knob and found it locked. I half expected this to just be a snatch-and-go, but I supposed that there was a reason Creole sent me.
Getting on my knees and warming up my hands with my breath, I quickly went about trying to pick this lock. What immediately struck me was how old this lock was. Not like rusty and about to fall apart old but in design old. I’d never come across a lock like this and I had to figure out how to actually go about picking it. My shaking hands and body also added to my struggles and I dropped my tools on more than one occasion.
Finally, after ten minutes of fumbling, cursing, and giving up once, I finally managed to open the door. “Let’s fucking go!” I shouted in excitement. Covering my mouth quickly as my voice echoed throughout the mansion. I quickly entered the room and closed the door behind me. I was surprised to see that it wasn’t an office, but more like a storage room with a few boxes and filing cabinets. He really wasn’t going to make this easy on me, was he?
I opened a few of the filing cabinets and found many of them empty, which sped up the process of finding the file I needed. It was the second to last one that finally yielded results. The only problem was that this cabinet was full of files. Just as I was about to try and steal all of them, one of them caught my eye. I was flipping through them and cursing Creole with every file that I flicked past when one felt different from the others. Mostly because it had a paperclip attached to it and a photo. I pulled this file out and looked down at it. The picture was of a woman who looked exactly like the woman at the entrance of the mansion. Opening it I read through it a little.
Abigail A. Sinclair.
Fell into deep and uncontrollable hysteria after the death of her husband, Cornelius A. Sinclair, and the return of her son from the war. Her son has seen fit to place her under the care of the Boston Psychopathic Hospital. Her son has requested that he not be informed of her progress or if she passes away in our care.
“Jeez,” I said as I flipped through more of the file. The most striking were two photos, one was of Abigail when she was mentally well and the next was her locked in a straight jacket and completely a shell of her former elegant self. Her hair was wild and her face was twisted into a look of intense fear and sorrow. I reached into my pocket to consult my magic pages and found that the map had now turned into a simple phrase.
“That one,” was all it said now. I looked back down at the file and stared at the haunting eyes of Abigail. I felt horrible for her, and I could only wonder what Creole wanted this for. But it was better for me not to think about that. I closed the file and tucked it under my armpit. The paper now changed back to a map and was leading me back towards the main entrance. Walking down the hallways was quicker now that I had an idea of where I was going, and I was back at the main entrance in no time.
The paper now told me to head up the grand staircase upstairs into one of the bedrooms. I assumed to Abigail’s room since judging by her file and the massive portrait she didn’t have a daughter. So I started making my way up the stairs, each of my footsteps echoing throughout the halls. At the top of the stairs, I was greeted by a different portrait, one of a tired-looking man in a suit. He had deep bags under his eyes and perfectly combed blonde hair.
“This must be the son,” I said as I approached the portrait. His scowl was enough to send a chill up my spine. It felt like his angry hazel eyes were staring deep into my soul. I shivered hard and quickly moved past the portrait. I reached Abigail’s room and was happy to see that it was open. The room was pristine and perfect in every way. It felt like it had been deliberately kept this way and I was intruding on a museum piece.
There, sitting on the bed, was the doll. A small little porcelain one. I was going to have to be careful lest I end up accidentally dropping and shattering it. I walked to the bed and carefully picked her up. All I had to do now was make it back to the office and I would never have to deal with shit like this ever again.
I exited the bedroom and headed towards the stairs, passing the portrait of the son. Just as I did I was suddenly and violently grabbed by the throat. In my surprise and shock at being suddenly attacked, I dropped everything I was holding to grip the mystery hand that was choking me. I watched in terror as the porcelain doll began to fall to the floor. Instead of shattering into a million pieces though it was caught in midair by something.
“May I ask what you’re doing here?” A deep voice asked me. I looked up toward the portrait and stared at it as it seemed to come to life. The son stepped right out of the portrait and continued his death hold on me while the doll floated up next to him. I don’t exactly know how he expected me to answer him, but he gave me an opportunity after he dropped me to the floor.
“Wh-” I gasped as I tried to suck in air only to be met with a skeletal goopy form staring at me from the floor. I let out a croak that was supposed to be a scream before falling backward and almost falling down the giant staircase.
“That freak sent you here, didn’t he?” The man asked as he looked down at me on the floor. The strange goopy creature slithered around him like some kind of snake before perching itself on his shoulder and letting out strange gurgles from its bright white mouth. Two beady white eyes stared down at me along with the exhausted eyes of the man who had just stepped out of a painting.
“C-Creole?” I asked him, standing up and reaching into my pocket, rubbing my thumb across my pepper spray. I didn’t know if it would do anything to him, but I needed some sort of protection and this was all I had in that department.
“Yes, that bastard,” he said as he took the file from the creature as it lifted it towards him. He took it and the moment his eyes saw the picture of his mother I could tell he wanted to kill me right there. “Why the fuck would he want this?” he asked me, his creature slithering over to me and opening its giant white maw.
“I-I don’t know! He just told me to get these things!” I told the son, quickly holding my hand up and uncapping my pepper spray. The creature stopped just before it could eat me and then quickly slithered back over to its master. I lowered my hand and watched as the creature morphed into the shape of his shadow.
“Sending a woman to do his dirty work. I knew he was pathetic but not this pathetic,” he hissed and I could immediately tell that he saw me as less than a parasite. His tired eyes were burning with rage as stared at me. I figured he was trying to figure out what to do to me. And I wasn’t going to let him think that over. I pulled my pepper spray out and quickly sprayed him with it.
That caught him off guard and he let out a pained shout, quickly covering his eyes with his arm. That summoned his creature back from his shadow, in fact as I saw him emerge once again it was obvious that the thing was his shadow. I had gotten the spray’s fumes in my own eyes and they began to sting and tears started streaming from them. I took this opportunity to sprint down the stairs. It's some miracle that I didn’t fall and break my shit.
I made it to the main entrance and quickly fished in my pocket for the skeleton key. I shoved it into the keyhole and turned it. I watched and waited for the door to finish morphing and when it did I flung the door open and slammed it shut behind me. I panted and sniffled as now my nose began to run uncontrollably along with the tears in my eyes. I felt a pair of hands hold my face up and suddenly cold water being poured onto my face.
“Jacob?” I asked as the pain and tears began to subside. His pale smiling face was more comforting to me than anything else could’ve been. I shoved my face into his bright red uniform and hugged him tightly. The floodgates opened, I don’t know if it was from the pepper spray or my latest near-death experience but I began to cry uncontrollably into Jacob’s chest. He wrapped his arms around me and gave me a soft hug.
“Macedonia.” Creole’s voice broke this brief comfort session. I looked up from Jacob’s chest and whimpered softly upon seeing him there staring back at me. “I take it, that it didn’t go well?” Creole asked with a smile still on his face. I shook my head and gripped Jacob as if he was going to save me in some way.
“I-I’m sorry sir…he…he came out of the painting and..who was that?” I asked as my thoughts ran at a million miles an hour. Jacob produced a napkin from his pocket and offered it to me. I took it and wiped my eyes and blew my nose.
“That would be a lovely associate of mine. Constantine Sinclair. He doesn’t take too kindly to my antics I’m afraid. Unfortunate that you weren’t able to get those items. I would’ve loved to have that kind of information to hold over his stupid blonde hair.” Creole sighed as he sat down behind his desk.
“Where even were you?” I asked as Creole looked at me. He smiled at me and watched as Jacob continued to comfort me. He seemed to watch us for a moment as he digested the question that I had just asked him.
“I was at a lovely dinner with my other associates and Sinclair. It was going just about as well as it normally does when Sinclair suddenly stood up from the table and immediately headed towards the door. I take it you must have tripped some kind of alarm.” Creole said with a laugh as he began to drum his fingers on his desk.
I stared at him for a moment as I tried to figure out in my head where he could’ve possibly had some sort of alarm. Then I remembered the painting. Was there something about it that he could see through it? Was that how he had been able to see me inside his mansion?
Jacob helped me stand back up and bowed to the two of us before leaving the office. Creole stared at me with those giant buttons for what felt like an eternity. I was sure that he was going to do something horrible to me for this second failure to complete a task for him.
“Welp, a deal’s a deal, Mace.” He shrugged his shoulders as he leaned back in his chair. “You’re free to go.” He shooed me away as he looked down at his desk. I stood there in shock. Surely it wasn’t going to be this easy, was it? Just as I turned to leave though he stopped me.
“There is one more thing though.” The tone in which he said this sent a chill up my spine. He was giddy with excitement and also ominously followed by low chuckles. “Your daddy came to visit me the other day.”
I spun on my heels quickly and stared at him. He was resting his head on his hand and smiled at me. The smile was one of superiority over me.
“He begged me to help with his financial situation. And I’m inclined to help him. Of course, if he doesn’t think his wish over thoroughly. I’d hate to see a repeat of your friends and Jacob.” He threatened me as he drummed his fingers on his desk.
“Stay away from my family,” I warned him, even though I had nothing to back it up with. He giggled at that and stood up from his chair.
“Or what? You’ll call the police? You’ll kill me?” He hummed and shook his head. “How about a trade? I spare your father, and your mother for good measure. And you become my permanent errand girl.” His gross yellow smile sharpened into fangs as he stared at me.
I clenched my fists tightly. I had no choice. He had every good card in the deck. He had a royal flush and I had a one-of-a-kind. I wanted nothing more than to rip his head off. Maybe even go back and try and work for the blondie. But I was stuck here now in this moment.
“I want it in writing. I don’t want you changing the deal.” I demanded. He nodded quickly and reached behind his desk to produce a contract.
“Feel free to read it.” He slid it across the desk toward me. I walked over to it and looked down at it. It was everything he had told me beforehand without any fine print for me to read. He offered me a pen and twirled it around his fingers as I stared at it in thought.
“How long for?” I asked him as I took the pen from him.
“Until I get bored with you,” he said with a smile. I stared at him and then down at the paper. I love my mom and dad more than anything in this world. Including myself. So I signed the paper. I watched as my signature melted into the paper and turned into gold letters on the page.
“Wonderful! You’re free to go home. Don’t worry about Sinclair either. I’ll handle him.” He shooed me away as he rolled the paper up and caused it to disappear from his gloved fingers. I silently left his office in complete defeat. Jacob was waiting at the door for me and he opened it for me.
“Thanks…” I mumbled to him as I left the shop and started my way home. This was my life now. Stuck in a contract with a horrible voodoo monster with no possible way out until he got bored with me. I had no way of escaping this. All I had going for me was that for now, my family was safe. And really at the end of the day. That’s all I wanted.

Hi all,
Looking to reseal my shower. I was looking at Bunnings and apparently these two products are good for anti mould:

• Selleys White Wet Area Waterproof Silicone Sealant
• Sika White SikaSeal Kitchen And Bathroom Silicone Sealant

However both have negative reviews talking about the silicone going yellow in a matter of days
I was keen for an acetoxy / acetic cure but the only one I could find didn’t have any reviews:

• Sika White SikaSeal 150 Professionail Tile Silicone - Acetoxy Tile Silicone

Any recommendations?

https://imgur.com/a/SdVdIwp
Every mouse has original packaging
Viper mini signature edition - $220 shipped • perfect QC other than loose scroll wheel that doesn't affect performance
Ultra Light X Medium batch 2 - $190 shipped • 100% fixed creaking issues • although batch 2 was the updated batch. My copy had a lot of creaking issues so the shell was glued shut(glue is not permanent and can be taken off) Can show confirmation emails aswell
Zowie Ec2-cw with obsidian donut skates - $70 shipped
Death adder v3 pro faker tiger arc skates - $85 shipped • has minor side wall creaking (flaw with dav3) • 4k dongle included -super grips attached
Outset ax yellow wireless tiger arc skates - $70 shipped
X2h mini - $50 shipped • stock
Comment before pm

”Stop.”
I really needed the bathroom.
For fifty painstaking minutes, I had been staring at the clock on the wall, willing it to go faster, uncomfortably shifting side to side in my seat so much that I was starting to get weird looks.
2:52pm.
Eight minutes, I thought dizzily, squeezing my legs together.
Which was just two chunks of four minutes.
Four chunks of two minutes.
The pain started like normal stomach pain, the kind I could deal with.
I swallowed two Tylenol with lukewarm soda.
But this was different.
This kind of pain was contorting and twisting my gut so much, I had to keep leaning onto my left buttock for relief.
I must have done it so many times, I caught the attention of the guy sitting next to me. Roman Hemlock who was half asleep, dark blonde curls hanging in half lidded eyes, his chin leaning on his fist. He shot me a look. I couldn't tell if it was Are you okay? or Can you stop moving around so much?
From the single crease in his brow, the slight curl in his lip, I guessed the latter.
It's not like Roman was helping.
For half the class, he'd been tapping his foot on the floor, then his chair leg, and to complete the orchestra, his fingers joined in, tap, tap, tapping on the edge of his desk. I didn't know if it was a bored thing, an ADHD thing, or he was trying to keep himself awake. It was easy to tolerate without the pain, but with it, the boy’s incessant tapping was more akin to a dentist drill splitting my skull open. I already felt nauseous, the sad looking chicken nuggets I forced down at lunch making an unwelcome appearance at the back of my throat.
It was too fucking hot, the stuffy summer air glueing my hair to the back of my neck. The material of my shirt was making me cringe, sticky against my skin.
Tipping my head back, the lights were too bright. Every sound was too loud. Imogen Prairie, who was sitting behind me chewing her gum a little too loudly.
Kaz Samuels scribbling notes like a maniac.
I could hear every stroke of his pencil, every time he paused, looked up at the presentation, and continued writing.
When I leaned forward in my chair, I could smell exactly what Isabella Trinity had eaten for lunch, the stink hanging in the air.
It became a case of sucking in my stomach and taking slow, deep breaths.
I’d never had these kinds of stomach cramps before. But it didn't take me long to figure out what they were.
I was yet to start my period at the grand age of sixteen, which meant this was it.
After countless sessions with the doctor, and feeling like a social outcast among my group of friends who started their periods in middle school, it had finally happened. The cramps in my gut that felt like my torso was being ripped apart, was in fact me entering womanhood. When my breath started to quicken, my mouth watering, I raised my hand, biting my lip against a cry.
Fuck.
Something lurched in my gut, a wave of nausea crashing into me.
I was going to throw up.
“Mr Brighton.”
Roman spoke up before me, waving his arm. “Can I use the bathroom?”
The teacher’s answer was always the same. Which was why I had been crossing my legs for the entirety of the class, unable to focus on anything but my gut trying to twist itself inside out.
Mr Brighton leaned against the wall, his eyes glued to the PowerPoint awash in our faces. We had been staring at the exact same slide for maybe five minutes now, and our physics teacher was yet to speak, his gaze somewhere else.
Mr Brighton was my Dad’s age, a greying man in his early fifties who always wore the exact same suit with the exact same stain on his collar.
The man was about as interesting as watching paint dry.
Normally, I would drift off myself, lulled into slumber by the low drone of his voice.
But the pain ripping me apart was keeping me awake.
“Mr Brighton.” Roman said, louder. His voice snapped me out of it. “Can I use the bathroom?” He paused, exaggerating a loud sigh. ”Please?”
The teacher straightened up, folding his arms.
“Mr Hemlock, you know the rules. Why didn't you go before class?”
“I didn't need to go an hour ago, did I?”
“You will no longer need to go to the bathroom, Mr Hemlock.”
Roman made a snorting noise.
“What?”
The low murmur of my classmates collapsed into white noise.
Glancing at the clock, I was anticipating the school bell.
The sickness swimming in the pit of my belly was reaching dangerous territory.
2:52pm.
Something ice cold trickled down my spine.
It was 2:52 the last time I checked, and five minutes had surely passed.
This time, I waited a whole minute and counted the seconds under my breath. The clock still didn't move. The ticker was frozen halfway between three and four.
Slowly, the same realisation began to hit the twelve of us. The clock on the wall had stopped. But it wasn't the only thing that had stopped. The cool breeze drifting through the window was gone.
The sound of birds outside, and the cheer squad practising their routine.
Everything had stopped. Trying to ignore a sickly slither of panic twisting its way through me, I checked my phone under my desk. There was a text from my Mom lighting up my notifications. When I tried to swipe it open, nothing happened. My lock screen was frozen, stuck at 2:52pm.
With my hands growing clammy around my phone, I stared at the time, willing it to move, to flick to 2:53.
But nothing happened, the numbers stubbornly staying at 2:52.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Roman’s voice brought me back to reality, though I was sure I'd dropped my phone. I heard it hit the floor with a sickening crack. Whatever he was saying, though, faded into dull murmur, when I turned toward the window.
Something was wrong outside.
The cheer squad were nowhere to be seen.
Being on the top floor gave us a front row seat to their practice sessions.
I stopped watching when their flyer did a death defying flip, almost breaking her neck. 2:52pm. I couldn't see the cheer squad. But I did see Jessie Carson mid-sprint across the track field, strawberry blonde curls suspended in a halo around her.
I could see exactly where she had frozen in place, her left foot hovering off of the ground, her right foot driving momentum. It wasn't just Jessie who had stopped. The dirt she was kicking into a cloud behind her was hovering, caught in mid-air.
Studying the faces around me, my mouth went dry.
Roman Hemlock, mid-argument with our physics teacher.
His eyes were wide, lips curved into what would have been a yell.
Fuck.
Was I the only one?
But then Roman blinked, and I realized the boy wasn't frozen. He was trying to think of a comeback. “What do you mean I won't need the bathroom anymore?”
“Mr Hemlock, please lower your voice.”
“Why? You can't dictate to me when I do and don't need the bathroom, dude!”
Moving onto the rest of my class, the others were still moving.
It was too quiet, though.
Yes, Roman was still tapping his foot.
Imogen was still chewing her gum.
Kaz was still scribbling notes like a psychopath.
But they were the only noise I could hear.
I wasn't the only one confused. The classroom had pricked with a sense of urgency. Kids were checking their phones, their gazes glued to the clock. Even Roman, who was still arguing, was starting to notice. I watched his gaze lazily roll to the clock on the wall.
I pretended not to see his cheeks visibly paling.
We had all come to the exact same terrifying conclusion.
2:52pm.
Time had come to a halt, and somehow, we had not.
“Is that clock broken?” Roman interrupted, leaning forward in his chair.
Kaz twisted around, settling the boy with an eye-roll.
“Check your phone, dumbass.”
“I broke my phone.”
Imogen threw her iPhone at him, narrowly missing hitting him in the face.
“Everything is frozen,” She said, her voice shuddering. “It's not just the clock.”
I waited for Roman’s response. For once, though, he was speechless.
“Well done, Imogen. That is correct.” Mr Brighton spoke up, tearing a piece of paper from a workbook and striding over to the door, glueing it over the glass window. When we started to protest, some of us were shouting, while others bursting into tears, he calmly took out his key and locked us in.
I should have been surprised that our teacher had spontaneously decided to take his entire class hostage, but the rumor mill had been churning.
According to Becca Jason, the guy’s wife divorced him and took his kids.
I could feel myself sinking into my chair, phantom bugs filling my mouth.
So, this guy had nothing to lose.
Taking his place in front of his desk, the man settled us with a patient smile.
“From now on, you will stay inside this room.” He said. “In case you haven't noticed, time is currently frozen at fifty two minutes past two. The thirteen of us are tucked into the twenty first second, and will be, for the foreseeable future.”
I could tell the others wanted to argue, but we couldn't deny that time had stopped. Kaz was staring down at his frozen phone, Imogen hyperventilating behind me, Roman glaring at the clock, chewing on a pencil. We wanted it to be a prank, a joke, some kind of glitch in the matrix that would fix itself.
But then a whole minute passed by. Followed by another. Kaz threw his phone on the floor, hissing in frustration. Imogen let out a wet sounding sob.
Roman’s pencil split in his mouth, slipping from his fingers. We couldn't pretend it wasn't happening or call our teacher out on his BS, because it was everywhere around us. The sudden absence of outdoor ambience, birdsong, planes flying overhead, and traffic outside the school gates. Everyone and everything had stopped, and we were the only ones left.
This was a nightmare, surely.
My physics class were some of the most boring and pretentious people in the school, and somehow the world had been reduced to the twelve of us inside our classroom. We were scared, of course we were. But reality had stopped making sense, crashing and burning in a single second. We had no choice but to listen to our teacher. “Now, before you freak out, it may not feel like it, but the twelve of you have also stopped.”
Mr Brighton held out his own hand, and placed it on his heart.
He was right.
I was so busy trying to understand what was happening, I had failed to realize my period cramps were gone.
“Do me a favor, and press your hand over your heart.”
“You mean like, in a culty way?” Imogen whispered.
“Obviously.” Roman grumbled, halfway out of his seat. He was hesitant, though, in case our teacher was armed. It only took one glance from our teacher, and he slumped back into his chair. “This crazy fucker clearly wants to play mind games with us.”
“No, I'm just asking you to feel for your heart.”
I felt for mine, and there was nothing, my stomach twisting.
Roman stabbed his fingers into his neck, feeling for a pulse.
He tried his wrist.
Then his heart.
Nothing.
“The twelve of you are currently in a state of stasis,” the teacher explained to us, “You are not alive, nor are you dead. Your bodily functions are also on pause, such as your heartbeat and your pulse. In this state there will be no need for food and water, or going to the bathroom.” His gaze found a ghastly looking Roman, who looked like he was going to faint. “Your minds, however, as you can see, are working as usual.”
“But why?” Imogen demanded in a shriek.
Mr Brighton’s lip curled. “I would rather not answer that question.”
“Because you're lonely.” Roman spoke up. He swung back on his chair, narrowed eyes glued to the teacher.
“Your wife and kids left you, so you're asserting power over a group of sixteen year olds. Which is kinda fucking pathetic.”
Mr Brighton’s expression darkened, and something slimy crept up my throat.
The worst thing any of us could do was threaten him. He had taken kidnapping to a whole new level, and we were alone with this psychopath, trapped inside a second. I waited for the man to stride forward and attack the kid. But he didn't. Instead, the teacher leaned back on his desk. “Yes.” The man nodded.
“I suppose you could say I am.”
“But why us?!” Kaz hissed.
“Because you are children.” Mr Brighton responded casually.
He straightened up, taking slow, intimidating steps towards Roman’s desk. The rest of us leaned back. I tried to pull my desk with me, but it was glued to the floor. Frozen. Mr Brighton’s shoes went click-clack across the hardwood floor.
“You are right,” the man said in a murmur, “I am lonely. My wife and kids did leave me, and I have nobody left to control. I have nobody else to contort and use to my advantage.” Reaching Roman’s desk, he leaned in close until he was nose to nose with the kid.
“Congratulations, Mr Hemlock. You have just earned yourself detention.”
Roman stayed stubbornly still, but he was visibly afraid. I could see him very slowly backing away. Roman was all bark and no bite. He was a loud mouth, sure, but he was also the least confrontational person in the class.
“What?” He spluttered. “You trap us in a time loop or time trap, or whatever, and you still want to act like a teacher?”
“Stand up.” The teacher ordered.
“What if I don't?”
Mr Brighton’s expression didn't waver. “You said it yourself. I can and have trapped you inside a single second. What else do you think I'm capable of?”
Roman stood, kicking his chair out of the way.
“What are you planning on doing to me, old man?”
The teacher maintained his smile. “Stand up straight, and close your mouth.”
To my confusion, Roman Hemlock did all the above.
He straightened up, and closed his mouth.
“Do not fight me.” The teacher said calmly, “Do as you are told, and follow me.”
The boy did exactly as instructed.
His jaw slackened, that rebellious light in his eyes fizzling out.
I think that's when we all collectively agreed that going against this teacher and trying to escape was mental suicide.
“I will use Mr Hemlock as an example to all of you,” Mr Brighton said, turning to the rest of us. “If you break the rules or are derogatory in any way, you will be given detention.”
He grabbed the boy’s shoulders, forcing him to walk towards the supply closet. Roman moved like a robot, slightly off balance, his gaze glued to thin air, like he was tracking invisible butterflies.
"Your time in detention will depend on the severity of your rule-break.” He opened the door, gently pushing Roman inside, and following suit. When the door closed behind them, there was a pause, and I remembered how to breathe.
Kaz Samuels slowly got up from his desk, inching towards the closet.
“This guy is a certified nut.” He announced.
He turned towards us. “Whatever he's doing to Hemlock, we’re probably next.”
“He stopped time.” I spoke up, my own voice barely a croak. “He’s capable of anything.”
“But how did he stop time?” Kaz whistled, tipping his head back. The boy was slow, his fingers grasping each desk as he slid down the aisle. “He said he was lonely, right? But why take it out on us? What did we do to him?”
“Check his desk for a weapon!” Imogen whisper-shrieked.
Kaz nodded, striding over to the man's desk, his hands moving frantically, shoving paper on the floor. He took an uncertain seat on the man's chair. “There's nothing here,” he murmured, lifting stained coffee mugs and ancient textbooks. “It's just…test papers.” Kaz ducked from view, trying the drawers.
“He's a fan of Pokémon,” he said, “There's a tonne of Pokémon cards,” Kaz straightened up, running a hand through his hair. “No sign of a weapon, though.”
He picked up a ruler, waving it around. “This could work. If we plunge it in his eye.”
“Try his laptop!” Imogen was halfway out of her seat.
Kaz did, slamming the keys. “It's locked.”
“Look harder!” Ren Clarke threw a pencil at him.
“I am!”
After a minute of searching, Kaz grabbed a single piece of paper.
He held it up, and I squinted.
It was a list of our names, with several of them highlighted.
“Fuck.” Kaz dropped the list, his expression crumpling. The stubborn bravado facade transforming him into our sort of leader dissipated, hollowing him out into exactly what he was. Just a scared kid. Kaz’s hands were shaking.
“Mr Brighton’s got a hit list.” He whispered. “He's going to kill us.”
“How do you know that?” I found myself asking.
Kaz slowly dropped into a crouch, picking up the paper and holding it up.
“Look.” He pointed to a capitalised name at the top of the list highlighted in red.
ROMAN HEMLOCK.
There were six names highlighted in red, including mine.
CRISTA ADAMS.
As if on cue, Roman’s cry rang out from the supply closet, suddenly, freezing us all in place. Kaz jumped up, adapting the expression of a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide, almost unseeing.
He fell over himself to tidy up the desk, putting everything back where he had found it, sliding the list between a pile of test papers. Kaz took slow, stumbled steps back, his feverish gaze glued to the closet, before turning and making a break for it and diving into his seat.
“Brighton’s got a hit liiiist,” Kaz said, in a mocking sing-song, “And we’re all on it.”
What followed was deathly silence. I think we were expecting Roman to cry out again. But when he didn't, the class started to stir. Some kids started praying to a god they didn't believe in, while others were in varying states of denial, trying to call their parents with dead phones.
I wasn't sure what parts of me had stopped, but I was still alive, still felt like my lungs were deprived of oxygen, my chest aching. I'm not sure how long I sat there, trying to find my voice, a shriek trying and failing to rip through my mouth. Being kidnapped and held hostage is one thing, but being imprisoned inside a single, never ending second, was an existential hell worse than death. Slowly, I pressed my palm over my heart once again. Then I breathed into my cupped hands.
I was expecting it, but no longer being able to feel my own heartbeat and breath, was fear I didn't think was possible. The kind that glued me to my seat, hollowing me out completely until I was nothing, an empty shell with no heartbeat, no breath, no thoughts, except denial, followed by acceptance.
And finally, regret.
I regretted not hugging my mother goodbye before I left for school.
I regretted acting like a spoiled brat when my parents refused to drive me halfway across the country so I could attend Coachella.
I regretted stepping inside Mr Brighton’s fourth period physics class.
Mr Brighton reappeared, slamming the door behind him and locking the boy inside. Part of me flinched, while the rest of me remembered not to move a muscle. I was barely aware of time passing. Or it wasn't. Time had stopped, so now long had I been sitting there?
I could no longer measure the passage of time with hunger or thirst, and my body felt the same. I wasn't stiff or tired or achy. Looking out of the window, the sky was the exact same crystal blue, every cloud in the exact same place.
Jessie Carson was still frozen mid-run, strands of dark red hair caught around her.
“What's wrong with you guys?” Mr Brighton chuckled, and I twisted back to the front, a shiver writhing down my spine. “Why don't you give me a smile?”
The teacher returned to his desk, and I was already subconsciously sitting up straight in my seat, forcing my lips into a jaw-breaking grin, following Brighton’s instructions. In the corner of my eye, Imogen was sitting very still, forcing an award-winning cheesy smile, while Kaz grinned through gritted teeth.
“Mr Hemlock just earned himself two weeks inside the supply closet.” he said casually, perching himself on the edge of his desk. The man studied each of us, taking his time to rip every shred of us apart.
Mind, body, and soul.
I struggled to maintain my stupid smile, shoving my shaking hands in my lap.
“Would anyone like to join him, or are you going to follow the rules?”
The rest of us stayed silent. I don't think any of us breathed.
Our teacher nodded to Kaz, inclining his head.
“Samuels. Are you all right?”
Kaz’s smile faltered slightly. He shifted in his chair. I could see sweat trickling down his right temple. “Uh, yeah.” He swiped at his forehead, like he couldn't believe he was sweating. “Yeah, I'm good.”
The teacher’s eyes narrowed. He moved toward his desk, and we all held our breaths. Mr Brighton seemed to study his hit-list, lips curving into a frown.
His gaze flicked to the boy, and then the paper.
He knew, I thought dizzily.
Mr Brighton knew the kid had been rummaging through his desk. But this was all about control. The teacher was using fear to control us, to manipulate our thoughts without having to get physical. He could have called out the boy right then, but Brighton was settling with mental torture instead. He just wanted to make my classmate squirm.
Without a word, the man folded up the piece of paper and slipped it into his pocket. “Mr Samuels, you are sweating,” our physics teacher said, mocking a frown. “Are you feeling okay?”
Kaz hesitated, tapping his shoe in a rhythm.
Being one of the smartest kids in the room definitely gave him an advantage.
I could already see the cogs turning behind half lidded eyes. Kaz was weighing each scenario, sorting them into positives and negatives.
The positives of answering would mean he was one step towards being in the clear, but there were two negatives.
Brighton would question him if he had left his seat, and then demand how his hit-list had magically moved across the desk.
Talking back was surely a rule-break, as well as outright lying.
Opening his mouth would get him in trouble, either way, and Kaz knew that.
So, he just nodded, forcing an even bigger smile.
Brighton’s lips pricked, his gaze straying on Kaz. “Good!” He cleared his throat, turning to the class. Kaz slumped in his seat with a sharp breath, resting his head in his arms. If Mr Brighton noticed, he didn't say anything. “Ignore the sweating. It should stop, along with hunger and thirst.”
Our teacher seemed to be able to manipulate everything in his vicinity.
Time.
Minds.
And slowly… contorting us into his own.
In the single second we were trapped inside, I felt days go by in a dizzying whirlwind that was like being permanently high. When I stood up, I felt like I was floating.
When I sat down, hours could go by, even days, and I wouldn't even feel them. I did try and count the days, initially, scribbling them on a scrap piece of paper, but somewhere around the thirteenth or fourteenth day, I lost count. The world around us never changed, in permanent stasis, and maybe that was sending us a little crazy.
After a while of being stuck at our desks, Mr Brighton allowed us to wander the classroom, as long as we stayed away from the door. I lay on the floor for days, counting ceiling tiles.
Sometimes, Imogen would join me.
I couldn't sleep, but I could pretend to sleep, imagining a world that was back to normal. I didn't feel hungry, but my brain did like to remind me of food at the weirdest times. I was aware of weeks passing us by, and then months.
I never grew hungry or tired, and my bodily functions were none existent.
I couldn't remember what pain felt like, or the urge to go to the bathroom. Even the concept of eating and drinking became foreign to me. Putting something in your mouth and chewing to sustain yourself?
That sounded odd.
The only thing that was changing was our slowly unravelling metal state.
I don't know how it started. Weekends and Tuesdays blended together. On one particular SaturTuesday, I was hanging upside down from my desk, watching Kaz and Imogen doodle on the whiteboard.
Kaz had a plan to escape, but after a while, his ‘plan’ to distract the teacher, had gone nowhere. After passing notes between us, the twelve of us had decided that we needed a weapon.
That was maybe a month ago. I wasn't sure what mind games our teacher was playing, but Kaz Samuels, who we were counting on to be our brains, was slowly falling under his spell. Their game had been going on for three days. The two of them were having a competition to see who could draw the craziest thing.
Mr Brighton was at his desk as usual, marking papers.
Imogen was drawing a weird looking ‘skateboard’ when the doors to the storage closet flew open.
Roman Hemlock appeared, and to my surprise, wasn't a hollow eyed shell.
He held up his hand in a wave, his lips forming a small smile.
“Yo.”
Roman’s reappearance was enough to snap us out of it. Kaz and Imogen stopped arguing, the rest of the class going silent. I sat up, blinking rapidly.
I was sure our collective consensus was that Roman Hemlock was dead.
Mr Brighton lifted his head and gave the boy a civil nod. “Mr Hemlock will be rejoining us,” he said, his gaze going back to marking papers. “Please make him feel comfortable. I'm sure he's very excited to be able to talk to you again.”
Instead of going to his desk, the boy immediately joined the others, snatching the marker off of a baffled looking Kaz, and drawing an overly artistic sketch of a penis. I wasn't sure what confused me more. The fact that Roman Hemlock had some serious artistic skills, or that he seemed suspiciously fine for someone who had been locked in the storage closet for two weeks with no social interaction.
With my last few lingering brain cells still clinging on, I studied the boy.
There were no signs of bruises or scratches.
His eyes seemed normal, not diluted or half lidded.
Unable to stop myself, I jumped off of my desk and joined the others, where Kaz was already interrogating the guy.
“WHAT–”
Imogen nudged him, and he lowered his voice, leaning against the wall. “What did he do to you?”
Roman shrugged, rolling his eyes. “Relax, dude. He didn't do anything to me.”
“Then what was that yell?” Imogen hissed.
The boy cocked his head. “Yell?”
“You yelled out,” Kaz folded his arms, narrowing his eyes. He was already suspecting one of us had been compromised– or worse, brainwashed into compliance. Kaz stepped closer, backing Roman into the desk. “You cried out when you first went in there,” he murmured, “So, what was that?”
Something in Roman’s eyes darkened. “Oh,” He said, his lip curling. “That.”
Kaz’s expression softened. He rested his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Yeah,” He whispered. “What did he do to you?”
Imogen shoved Kaz out of the way, shooting the boy a glare.
“You don't have to tell us, you know.” She said in a small voice. “If it's too traumatising, or he did something you don't want to talk about–”
Roman cut her off with a laugh, and suddenly, all eyes were on him.
The remaining nine of us were eagerly awaiting an explanation.
“Are you fucking serious?”
When Kaz didn't respond, Roman gathered us in a kind of hustle, the four of us grouped together. I felt like I was on the football field. Still, though, if the guy’s goal was to look as suspicious as possible, he was doing a great job.
Roman studied each of us, one eyebrow cocked. When Mr Brighton glanced up from his work, Roman shot him a grin, lowering his voice to a hiss.
“You seriously think our fifty year old physics teacher has been abusing me in the storage closet?
“Then why did you cry out?” Kaz demanded. “Did he hit you?”
Roman stuck out his bottom lip. “I'm pretty sure he didn't hit me.”
“So, you cried out for no reason.”
“Why are you covering for him?” Imogen poked his forehead. “Are you lobotomised?”
Roman wafted her hand away. “Stop prodding me, and no, I'm 100% good.” He backed away from us, like we were observers, and he was the zoo attraction.
“I won't be, if you keep treating me like I'm senile.”
“Okay, fine,” Kaz sighed. “Just answer one.”
“Shoot.”
“When you first went in there, you made an unmistakable sound of distress–”
“Not this again,” Roman groaned. “Of course I yelled! I was shoved into a pitch black storage closet on my own! What, did you expect me to stay silent?”
Kaz didn't look convinced, Imogen nervously sucking her teeth.
The boy leaned back, resting his head against the wall. His eyes flickered shut.
“Stop looking at me like that, there's nothing to tell you,” he murmured, “Brighton didn't do shit to me. I was just freaked out.” Prying one eye open, he fixed us with a glare. “I am so sorry for reacting like a human. Next time, I'll make sure to attack him and pin him to the ground.”
It's not like we believed him. I don't think Roman believed himself.
Something significant had changed in him. He was no longer argumentative, like half of his personality had been torn away. Roman set a precedent. Because once he was following instructions and walking around with a dazed smile, others began to follow. I can't remember how much time had passed since I thought about escaping.
Days and weeks and months had collapsed into fleeting seconds I only noticed when I wasn't playing games.
I wasn't aware of my own lack of sanity until I found myself, on a random SaturWednesday. I was laughing, gathered with the others on the floor, around a Monopoly board. The game had been going on for almost a week.
Reality hit me when I was laughing so hard I tipped back.
I can't remember why I was laughing. I think Imogen told a bad joke.
“Hand it over.” Roman, who was the King of Monopoly, held out his hand, demanding my last 250 bucks. I remember noticing his smile, my foggy brain trying to find hints that he was in some kind of trance, or being controlled by Brighton. But no. His smile was real.
Genuine.
To my shock and confusion, so was mine.
I wasn't in a trance or any type of mind manipulation. I was completely conscious.
Was this… Stockholm syndrome? I thought dizzily.
Was I enjoying this?
My thoughts were like cotton candy, disconnected and wrong, and they barely felt like my own. My gaze found Imogen and Kaz, the two of them sitting shoulder to shoulder, enveloped in the game.
They looked exactly the same, their hair, clothes, everything about them staying stagnant. It was them themselves who had drastically changed. I had never seen them look so carefree. Imogen was a hotheaded cheerleader, and Kaz was the smart kid who gave himself nosebleeds from overworking himself. But now, they were laughing, nudging each other, caught up in an inside joke. Blinking slowly, my gaze strayed on them.
Sure, it could be manipulation. It could be brainwashing. But it could also be real.
Kaz caught my eye, raising a brow.
“You good, Christa?”
Shaking my head, I nodded.
Again, my smile felt real. Like I was having fun.
“Good. It's your turn.”
I picked up the dice, throwing them across the board.
Two sixes.
“I can already see her landing on one of my hotels.” Roman murmured. He sat up, resting his chin on his knees. “As the clear winner, I have a proposition.”
Ignoring him, I moved my piece– immediately landing on Park Place.
“I'll give you 500,” Roman announced, “If you give up New York avenue.”
“That's all I've got!”
Imogen nudged me. “Don't do it. If you give him New York Avenue, he only needs one more.”
“One thousand.” Roman waved the notes in my face.
“My final offer.”
When I reached for the cash, he held it back.
“New York Avenue, he said, with a grin.
“And your pride.”
Reluctantly, I handed my only property over.
Kaz threw the dice and moved his piece, and I half remembered we had an escape plan. “Community chest.” Kaz picked up a card. “Go straight to jail.”*
Roman spluttered. “That's karma,” he said, “For stealing from the bank.”
“You were stealing too!”
We had a plan.
We had…. a plan.
After discussing it in detail, Imogen and I were going to try and get onto Brighton’s laptop. It wasn't a perfect way to escape, but it was coherent.
So, what happened?
We were going to get out, so what… what was this?
Kaz’s earlier words hit me from months ago.
“Mr Brighton *is the thing keeping us here,”* he explained. “If we kill him, I'm like, 98% sure we’ll go back to normal.”
“Okay, and what if he dies and we’re *stuck?”* Imogen whisper-shrieked.
“I said 98% for a reason. Yes, there's a small chance his power will die with him. But there's a bigger chance that its effects will die when he does.”
Ren nodded slowly. “Right, and where exactly did you learn this information?”
“You'll feel a lot better if I don't answer that.”
“Okay.” Ren gritted his teeth. “So, we just need to find a weapon, right?”
“And don't tell Hemlock,” Kaz rolled his eyes. “I don't care what he says, that boy definitely had his mind fucked with. Hemlock is a liability. If we tell Roman, he tells Brighton, and we’re screwed.” Kaz nodded to me, then the others. “Keep your mouths shut.”
Presently, I wasn't sure the boy wanted to escape.
Slowly, I rolled my eyes over to Mr Brighton, who had joined us to play.
He was happily marking papers, taking part when he could.
It felt…right.
Not like we had been forced or manipulated, but more like he belonged. Part of me wanted to question why I felt like this, but I found that I didn't care. I didn't care that we were essentially dead, in a never ending stasis and stuck inside fifty two minutes past two. I stopped thinking about the outside world a long time ago.
I couldn't even remember my Mom’s face.
I made my decision, dazedly watching Imogen throw a chance card at Roman.
He flung one back, threatening to tip the board.
I wanted to stay.
In the corner of my eye, however, someone was still awake.
Ren, who had been sitting next to me, kept moving, further and further away. I didn't notice until he was inching towards our teacher, a box cutter clenched between his fist. There must have been a point when we found a box cutter, when we made it our weapon of choice.
But somewhere along the way, I think we just… lost the longing to want to escape.
I didn't see the exact moment the boy stabbed the blade into the man's neck, plunging it through his flesh, but I did feel a sudden jolt, like time itself was starting to falter and tremble.
Mr Brighton dropped to the ground, and I found my gaze flashing to the frozen clock.
Which was moving, suddenly.
Slowly creeping towards 2:53pm.
Something sticky ran underneath me, warm and wet.
Blood.
Blood that was running.
Roman’s half lidded eyes found mine, and he blinked, dropping the dice.
Like he'd been asleep for a long time.
2:53pm.
We were free.
The cool spring breeze grazing my cheeks was back. I could feel my own heartbeat, sticky sweat on my forehead.
And outside, Jessie Carson let out a gut-churning scream.
For a disorienting moment, I don't think any of us believed we were free.
Roman twisted around, his gaze on the doorway.
The piece of paper the teacher had stuck to the glass slipped away.
But Roman’s gaze was glued to the door, his cheeks paling.
His lips parted into a silent cry.
Following his eyes, I glimpsed a shadow.
A shadow that was frozen at 2:52pm.
2:53pm.
“Fuck.” Roman whispered, stumbling to his feet.
He turned to the rest of us, his eyes wild.
“Get DOWN!”
When the thing crashed through the door, our classroom exploding around us, chairs splintering against the walls, I was already dropping to my knees, crawling under a desk. It took me a moment to understand I was already kneeling in what was left of Imogen.
Her body had been hollowed out, singed straight through.
I was crawling through pieces of her flesh, mounds of her bisected brain.
Keeping my hand over my mouth, I watched this… thing.
A bulbous black monster, chewing its way through my classmates. Blood splattered the walls, raining from the ceiling, and that same striking pain ripped through my gut, agonising enough to force a cry through my lips.
My frantic gaze found the clock.
2:54pm.
Lurching forwards, I heaved up what was left of my lunch, agonising pain wrenching my stomach back and forth.
I jumped when another body joined me, thankfully alive, squeezing under the desk.
Roman, his face slick and dripping scarlet.
When the thing was gone, neither of us moved.
3:05pm.
“What are those things?” I managed to get out.
“I don't know,” Roman whimpered, covering his mouth. “But they're everywhere.”
3:10pm.
Another thing found our classroom. This time I saw it up close, a giant, bulbous black thing with an eye stalk. It knew we were there, peeking under the desk we were hiding. But it didn't kill us.
The thing left the room, stopping to gorge on half of Ren’s torso.
Roman shot me a questioning look, but I could only be relieved.
3:15pm.
Roman threw up black slime all over me.
He caught my eye, swiping his mouth. “Well, that can't be good.”
The pain in my gut was getting harder to deal with.
3:20pm.
“Did you have chicken nuggets for lunch?” Roman murmured. He got a little too close, his breath on my neck.
I had to suck in my stomach to stop the pain.
I was going hot and cold, sweat dripping down the back of my neck.
“Why?” I hissed back, taking deep, shaky breaths.
“I dunno,” Roman murmured, “I can smell them on your breath.”
His teeth grazed my flesh, sending shivers down my spine.
“Weird… huh.”
3:30pm.
Roman nudged me.
“Fuck.” He hissed. “Is that Kaz?”
Following his gaze, I found the remnants of Kaz under a crushed desk starting to… convulse.
“Was he bitten?” I whispered.
Roman’s eyes were a strange color. “Maybe.”
3:35pm
“Mr Brighton.” I was on my knees, sobbing, shaking my physics teacher.
“Mr Brighton! Take us back!”
I squeezed his ice cold hand for dear life.
“Say, ‘stop’,” I whispered “Please!”
3:40pm.
The thing that found me didn't attack me. It sat there, head cocked, watching me roll around on the floor, the pain writhing through me. I watched its transformation in short bursts, consciousness swimming in and out.
When I found light again, the thing was sitting cross legged next to me, chewing on a human arm. Maybe I was hallucinating. I watched it for a long time, trying to figure out why it was wearing strips of Roman’s white shirt.
3:52pm.
No longer in the school, I was in the back of an ambulance, a lady screaming in my face. I could see the time on her watch. She told me I was going to be okay, and I think I was. But I wasn't sure how to tell her she smelled good.
Like chicken.
It's been three months since my teacher froze time.
Mr Brighton wasn't imprisoning us. He was protecting us.
I'm still alive, but I have to take regular shots. I think they're just in case I was infected by those things.
I asked Mom if the incident has been on the news, but there's no coverage.
According to the people in white who treated me, everything has been covered up. According to the Mayor, ten kids died in a gas leak.
No mention of the monstrous things hunting us down…
Our town is just a blip on the map. You can't find us. I wish you could, though.
I need help.
I'm terrified of myself.
I’m not going to tell Mom she smells like chicken, because she'll freak out.
Last night, someone, or something knocked on my window.
When I turned on the light, a single, bulging eye was staring at me through the glass.
I still don't know why it was crying.

How rare is it for a house to look better in person, then in photos. High quality professional photos .
Just curious. Usually it’s the opposite, well done photos show better than in person. This house we bought looked nice in photos and even had a 3D option. I thought the diff flooring looked busy and it had a dark grey carpet with a blue hue , I figured we could easily change flooring . But then, It was so much nicer at the showing. I actually found myself loving the carpet and I’m not big on any carpet. It was surprisingly high quality carpet , must’ve been put in by older couple, and it gave a comforting office / waiting room vibe but paired with yellow toned walls it was very inviting. And the transfer to the kitchen tiles felt seamless in person.

TIMESTAMP TAGGED PHOTOS TAGGED PICS PAYPAL INVOICE ONLY
https://imgur.com/a/CslrGnq
Hello everyone selling some pieces that I do not get to wear and are just sitting. Any questions message me.
HAPPY TO SHIP TO ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD BUT YOU HAVE TO PROVIDE THE SHIPPING LABEL AND TAKE FULL RESPONSIBILITY, UK BUYERS WILL BE PRIORITISED.
Y33ZY 700 V1 INERTIA UK 10 - Worn 7.5/10 - Comes with Box
LW BATCH (Most accurate batch to date)
Pics - https://imgur.com/a/lb8Iowt

PRICE - £40 + ship

NEW B3LANCE PROTECTION PACK GREY UK 10 (fits tts UK 10) - Worn 7/10 - Comes with Box
ZC BATCH (Most accurate batch to date)
Pics - https://imgur.com/a/lb8Iowt
PRICE - £40 + ship
YE3ZY FOAMRXNNERS UK 10 - Worn 9/10 (Will fit best if you are UK 9 in Nikes - No Box
LW BATCH (Most accurate batch to date)
Black and Beige
Pics - https://imgur.com/a/IkmDxYS
PRICE - £15 + ship each
JORDXN 3 A MA MXNIERE - Worn 8/10 Condition - Comes with Box and Sleeve - UK 9.5 WOMENS
**I have paid £60 for the midsole to be professionally repainted to the correct yellow colour same as retail pair as you can see in the imgur pics it was a mustard-like yellow to a lighter yellow same as retail*\*
Unfortunately, UK 9.5 womens is 29cm (I am 28/28.5cm) so these are slightly too big for me and slip out of feet, these are 0.9:1 very close to retail with the new repainted midsole. Can definitely fit UK 10. I am literally crying about selling these.
OG Batch - One of the best batches with minimal flaws.
Pics - https://imgur.com/a/K4YKkku
PRICE - £80 + ship
Y33ZY 700 V2 EARTH UK 10 - Brand New, Tried On - No Box
Great pair, I would say these are 0.7:1 not perfect reps but very hard to tell the difference from retail unless the pair is next to it.
Pics - https://imgur.com/a/f9g0LsO
PRICE - £30 + ship
JORDXN 4 TAXPE HXZE - UK 9.5 Brand New - No Box - "B GRADE" (minor glue stains)
GX Batch - one of the best
Pics - https://imgur.com/a/rSUNZcZ
PRICE - £40 + ship
DXNK LOW LXTTERY - UK 9 - Worn Once Outside - No Box
VT Batch - best budget batch
Pics - https://imgur.com/a/FsFTQ6M
PRICE - £30 + ship
JORDXN 4 MIDNXGHT NXVY - UK 9.5 Worn 6/10 - With Box
GX Batch - best batch for the midnight navys from my knowledge
Cages have yellowed due to having them on a shoe rack opposite a window, I personally really like the look.
Pics - https://imgur.com/a/f0V5LMr
PRICE - £40 + ship
ESSXNTIALS GREY SWEATPXNTS - Worn Indoors, No Stains, No Wearing - Size Medium (Fits like an L IMO)
All text and "badges" are on point IMO, definitely 0.8:1 if not 0.9. Measurements in pics, I am 5'11 80kg and these fit fine.
Pics - https://imgur.com/a/50qEa2p
PRICE - £40 + ship
Shipping is £11 special delivery or £6 tracked24 signed for within the UK.

Hey guys,
Recently gotten interested in mosaics. Now that I've seen a big mosaic table I feel like making one myself. As I want to make the whole tabletop myself, including the basis of the tabletop, and I wonder on how to proceed.
Should I go for course sand and cement + inner steel rods for structural support, and after glue + grout the mosaic tiles on that, or rather should I build the base with a grout-like mix so perhaps it becomes a bit lighter?
Not sure if to pist here or not but it seemed like the logical thing. Any help would be greatly appreciated as I don't know where to start yet :)

1.) firstly, you can’t tile directly rule over SOFP. Right?
2.) Can you glue gyp brd onto the SOFP and then tile onto that. So it would need to be secure enough to hold the tile.
3.) the rest of the wall is tile on gyp on mtl framing so even if those would work, wouldn’t the tiles crack if the gyp/mtl partition isn’t as stiff as the steel brace that the before mentioned SOFP is protecting?
4.) how thick does SOFP actually end up being?
Edit for grammar