Internet-Degenerate

Fun fact: Vikings covered their roofs in grass so enemy aircraft bombers couldn't see them.

Also, this chapter is rushed. If you think it sucks, that's why.

I didn't see how, but Tabby produced a microphone and voice recorder out of nowhere. She turned the camera around her neck and pointed it at me, and I was immediately blinded by a bright light. "Wow, the camera just loves you! C'mon, smile, smile!" I think she may have misunderstood me when I said I did mind. 

"Tabby, you're making him uncomfortable," Sol says with a giggle. 

"Well, we'll do the pictures later, then," Tabby resigned. "Wouldn't want to get stuck with a bad picture. We want you looking nice and handsome, right?"

"Handsome? Have you even seen my face?" I ask her. I'm honestly dumbfounded she could even joke about that.

"I'm looking at it right now. It's very gnarly. There are women in the world who find rugged, scary men attractive, you know?" Did this girl really just say 'gnarly?' In the 21st century? "We'll get the interview out of the way, then. That okay?" Before I could say anything, Tabby clicked on the recorder and turned the microphone to me. I guess we're doing this now. 

"Do you always carry that stuff around with you?" I ask her. Maybe she'll forget about her interview if I prevent her from asking questions.

"Of course," she tells me with pride. "My microphone, recorder and camera are my holy trinity." Before I ask her some other question, Sol turns to me. 

"Seraph. This is a good opportunity for us. We need to let people know who you are. It would be best of us to make use of mass media." Sol, you damn traitor. Tabby pushes even further.

"That's right! Our news club publishes a newspaper daily. We leave them in the classrooms in the morning, so give it a read tomorrow. We didn't have the main edition because it's the first day today, but look! We published an extra." Tabby pulled out an A-3 sized piece of newsprint. Again, I have no idea where from. Sol was impressed. Not by the fact that Tabby pulled matter out from the Aether, but by the fact an extra was published.

"Amazing. An extra about what?" 

"It would be a disgrace to the news club's name not to publish big news like this, right? Fresh off the presses. Have a look if you want." 

"Thank you," Sol says, taking the paper. Looking for any excuse to avoid talking about myself, I look over it with her.

"It's really frustrating, though. Even with our network, we couldn't break this story earlier... No one even saw you. How long have you been here?" 

"Like... five days," I answer.

"And you've been in your room the whole time?"

"Yeah..."

"I see... that would explain it." Despite her words, Tabby let out a defeated sigh. "But, oh well. It's fun having a bombshell get dropped right in your lap at the start of the new year." At this rate, the conversation is going to steer right back to me. I need to stall until class starts.

"So, Tabby... No offence intended, but I've noticed that you speak a lot more frankly than the other girls..."

"Oh, I guess that's true. Probably 'cause I'm an Intermediary Course tourist." That! I can press on that!

"What does that mean?" I ask. Sol answers me.

"Primary, Intermediary and Final Course are the stages of Vincennes education. The Primary Course building is here on Mt. Amos, as well, but in a different location. The Intermediary Course building is right in front of us." Oh, so that's why the two buildings were separated from each other. 

"Okay, but what does 'tourist' mean in this context?" Before Sol answered me, Tabby interrupted.

"Well, enough about me. Seraph's the interviewee here." Damn it. "Let's start with what brought you here. It seems like it must be a strange set of circumstances. Am I right? Never thought they'd find a proper student for the 'special scholarship.' And yet, here you are. Plus, you're not even a freshman; you're a second-year student, which means you had to transfer... I think everyone would like to know how you ended up here. How about giving us a statement?" This... is a fine pickle I'm in. My lips tighten, and I glance awkwardly at Sol. She looked at me blankly. Can't you see I'm practically begging you for help?

"What is it?" She seriously just asked me that.

"What isn't it? What am I supposed to say? Should I seriously be honest?" 

"What do you mean?" Sol is genuinely confused. "You acted wonderfully that night."

"Firstly: I didn't. Secondly, what about before all that? I had a life before coming here, you know? I left everything behind, and there was nobody to care. That means it was okay for me to make a complete wash of it, and, quite frankly, I'd like it buried deep into the inner core of the Earth. It's not okay to just flat out say what happened, but I can't just lie about it." 

Sol's face became grave. "You are referring to your family's situation, I suppose?"

"Well, yeah..." That's some of it, anyway.

"That it makes you feel inferior?"

"It does."

"Seraph." Sol leaned forward and stared at me solemnly and sincerely. "The child and the parent are entirely separate people. The people who should feel ashamed are the one's who earned that debt. Not the person they forced it on. I believe that you yourself are a fine man. So please, relax and give your interview."

But... That's just based off of what I've told you. You wouldn't think the same if I told you everything. If I did, you'd hate me too.

"Oh, my," Tabby jumps in. "You two just met, haven't you? Yet you've already won the trust of our Soleil De École." Sol puffs her chest out with pride.

"I just know everyone will be surprised by my excellent judgement." Stop. Please just stop. Don't have any expectations of me. You'll only be disappointed. 

"That remains to be seen. Well, Seraph, let's get to the interview."

I open my mouth to speak. It's not surprising, but no words come out. I know I only have to recall the events that led up to meeting Sol, and I know I don't even have to tell everything and just remove the complexities and fine details. But my mind flashbacks anyway. Back to that box. I don't want to remember.

.

.

.

It's distressing.

It's suffocating.

I can't stop shivering.

Everything hurts.

Everything burns.

Why am I here?

Why are you all looking at me like that?

Why are you all touching me like that?

Why is this happening to me?

Why won't you just let me die?

I'm sorry...

I'll be good...

Just stop...

Just let me die...

"I'm sorry..."