Uni Assignment 4 - A Summer Morning WIP

Before I begin the retelling of the most terrifying moment of my life, I would like to make a number of things clear to my readers. It was not winter; it was spring. It was not dark; it was early afternoon. It did not coincide with the full moon. I was not dreaming, or under the influence of any type of medicines. It was, most certainly, not a typical horror. Now with that all done, I can start.1

It was twelve days after Pentecost. It seemed like yet another average lunchtime. I had finished teaching the girls their needlework for the day, and was eating on my own. The headmistress had called the other teachers into her office to talk about me; I knew this, because she had told me; she was, after all, my sister.2

A demonic scream escaped one of my girls, thus I naturally went to calm her. One of the boys had merely stolen her new bonnet, and refused to give it back until my arrival. He quickly received thirteen strikes of the cane.3

I thought about how my occupation was a vocation, a calling; not many respected ladies can say they earn their own wage outside inheritance and their husband. I was unable to marry, my occupation took all of my time.4

I heard another scream after sitting in the staff area for a while. I ran out to the courtyard again, and saw nothing. I mean not that I saw nothing out of place; I saw nothing. I have read about temporarily losing one's eyesight, but I lost all my senses. I heard nothing, I saw nothing, I felt nothing; I could not feel the ground I was walking on, and I was not even sure there was any ground for me to walk on, or even if I was moving.5

I felt like I was the great Cassandra whilst in one of her trances, with only the power over words as a comfort. I tried to speak, reciting In Memoriam, but I could not speak, or could not hear myself speak. I was not sure if I was dead, alive, or somewhere in between.6

My only thoughts I still cannot translate into intelligable words; the feelings I experienced during my own personal Hell, I cannot describe. I knew I was alive, at least I hoped I was alive; I had no reason to think I was dead, but no reason to think otherwise. Was I just a figment of my own imagination?