INSANITY OR REALITY 

Thomas arrived at the orphanage not long after everything happened. Most of the staff didn't bother him, and while they were kind enough, they'd long stopped hoping he'd be adopted. At fourteen, he was too old in their eyes. In four years, he'd age out of the system and be on his own. Their focus had shifted to simply getting him through high school. After that, he'd be left to figure out the rest on his own.

There was silence. A few workers passed by, avoiding eye contact. Most were too busy to say anything to him.

They had other kids to look after. They didn’t have time for him.

One unexpected perk of being given up on was privacy. He had his bedroom now, and they let him do whatever he wanted with it. With a racing heart, he slipped through the large double doors of the orphanage, his pace quickening. His face had gone pale. Dante's image still followed him, burned into his mind. That same bloated, lifeless version of Dante lingering in the shadows of the hallway haunted him. His breath hitched.

The hallway where he stood was lined with posters. Most were adoption encouragements—smiling families, bright slogans, and photos of kids who had found their forever homes.

Some of the pictures and pamphlets were curled at the edges, worn from being flipped through again and again by visitors.

He could hear the lounge—the TV blaring in the background—but no one paid him any attention. He was like a ghost on the wall, a necessary evil.

They ignored him, yet he was the one keeping the younger kids in check. He watched over them, helped them with math and science, even read them books at night to help them sleep.

Everyone may have acted like he wasn’t there, but they couldn’t manage without him.

"Thomas! Thomas! How was your day?"

Thomas flinched at the sudden voice. It was Samuel, a ten-year-old who'd taken to following him around.

Samuel was harmless. He had short brown hair and golden eyes, and he was still full of innocence. Thomas figured he'd be adopted soon. The boy was new, recently orphaned after a car accident took his parents.

Thomas forced a weak smile, his eyes still wide with lingering fear. He ruffled Samuel's hair then gently pushed his head away to avoid eye contact. He couldn’t bear to look into his innocent eyes—they only made the ache in his chest worse.

His hands trembled against Samuel’s head, his whole body aching with it.

 "G-Good, kid. I… I've got a lot of homework to do."

It was a lie. He'd forgotten it was summer school, and there was never any homework, just quizzes done in class. Thankfully, Samuel didn't question it and watched as Thomas continued down the hall.
but Samuel’s voice echoed down the hallway before he could.

“Don’t forget, I have an adoption appointment coming up! I’m going to have a forever home!”

His words were full of life and hope—things Thomas had lost a lifetime ago.

He was happy for Samuel. He just wished he knew what that felt like.

The foyer buzzed with activity. Other kids ate snacks and drank water, chatting in small groups. Thomas slipped past them, avoiding eye contact, trying not to be seen.

"Dante was following Thomas again," someone whispered.

It was a classmate talking to a girl who didn't have to attend summer school.

"No way. Again?" she frowned. "You think that's why he's late? Maybe he and Dante got into trouble."

Thomas didn't stick around to hear more. He darted to the stairwell, dodging a group of younger kids running past, then hurried up to the second floor. In his room, he shut the door and locked it.

Only then did the adrenaline fade, and the weight of everything crashed down.

Tears ran down his cheeks as he gripped the doorframe. Gasping and sobbing, he stumbled back and collapsed to the floor, hugging his knees. His thoughts were blank, his brain silent. He couldn't even blink, and his eyes stung from dryness as a breeze slid across them.

The floor was dusty—he hadn’t swept in a while. Old, torn posters clung to the walls, and clothes were scattered everywhere from the laundry he hadn’t gotten to.

Lately, he’d been focused on getting the younger kids’ laundry done at night while everyone else got ready for bed.

The smell of Dante still clung to his nose—how could it not, when the figure of Dante lingered in the corner of his eye the entire time?

He clawed at the floorboards, but his nails weren’t long enough to do anything. He dry heaved, desperate to ease the churn in his stomach, but nothing came up.

His forehead pressed against the floor, the scent of dust and dirt barely masking the smell of Dante.

Then, suddenly, he blinked, and the sun was gone.

He lay limp on the floor, sweat dripping from his forehead. Had he fallen asleep… or passed out?

Pushing himself up, he grabbed the clock nearby. 2:00 AM.

He'd been out cold for hours.
His head swam, sweat rolling down his face as he lifted himself off the floor.

He clutched his stomach—it growled, but the hunger felt more like pain. The room around him was dark, and his body ached like he’d been hit by a truck.

Slowly, he pushed himself up. Turning toward the window, his gaze fell on the distant town where Dante's body would be. Had they found it yet? Were his parents still searching? Maybe the police were testing the vomit Thomas left behind.

A wave of dread tightened around his chest. He couldn't breathe.

He turned back, grabbed his bag, and began stuffing clothes into it. He didn't own much, so packing was easy.

I'll leave. Just disappear. No one will miss me. I'm nobody, he told himself.

He paused at the window, backpack slung over his shoulders. He stared out at the path leading away from the orphanage. The world beyond was dim, save for the flickering of distant streetlights.

He climbed out and gripped the vines that clung to the building's outer walls, slowly lowering himself down. rough gray bricks beneath them. The orphanage had stood since the 1940s, quietly serving its purpose ever since.

Most of the kids came from the big city an hour away—it offered a bit of calm in otherwise dark circumstances.

The climb felt endless, though maybe that was just the noise in his head. Dante’s voice echoed in his mind, relentless, reminding him of what he’d done.

Once on the ground, he began walking, eyes on the pavement. He couldn't bring himself to look up. The night always made things worse. His eyes felt like they watched him from the shadows, and whispers crept in.

Schizophrenia always hits harder at night.

The farther he walked, the stronger the presence felt. It was like something was breathing down his neck.

Finally, he reached the fork of three paths.

To the right: the school.

To the left: the road out of town.

Straight ahead: the town center.

Leaving town wasn't an option. The road led to nowhere, just woods and wildlife. He'd starve, or worse.

Straight ahead led deeper into town. He could hide in alleys, maybe sleep in the park's tunnels. But there'd be people, passersby. And if anyone got suspicious, the whole town would be after him.

School was the best option. It had a forest behind it. He could sneak in at sunrise when the janitors opened the doors, grab food from his locker, and then hide out in the woods. He could wait a week, then raid the garden club's vegetables when they were ripe. But could he survive that long?

He clicked his tongue in frustration, then adjusted his backpack and started toward the school.

The summer breeze nipped at his arms, sending goosebumps up his skin. His headache worsened the closer he got. As he neared the gate, he tossed his bag over, climbed up, and dropped down with a thud, his backpack cushioning the fall.

Groaning, he stood, slung the bag over his shoulder, and moved toward the woods.

Almost there.

Then, a hand gripped his shoulder.

Thomas froze, the color draining from his face. The pain in his head spiked like something screamed in his ears. The pressure rang through his skull.

He turned slowly and locked eyes with Castel.

That familiar face, and suddenly, the weight of guilt crushed him. He felt like he'd betrayed something sacred.

"What's wrong? Why are you here so early?" Castel asked, brows furrowed with concern.

Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The words caught in his throat.

I was exploring the woods.

I wanted to bask in the moonlight.

But neither would come.

"I killed Dante," the words burst out, a messy mix of guilt, relief, and panic. Tears followed. "I don't know how. I just tried to punch him!"

Thomas collapsed, body trembling, but Castel caught him, steadying him with a firm grip.

"Hey, Woah now. Calm down," Castel said, voice confused but steady. "Let's figure this out."

Castel raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t known Thomas to be a liar, but this story was far-fetched—even for him.

A long, drawn-out silence followed, broken only by Thomas’s quiet weeping.

With a soft breath, Castel placed a hand on his shoulder. He couldn’t leave him like this—not in the state he was in.

He glanced around, trying to figure out the best way to handle it.

Sitting in the principal's office, Thomas held a cup of tea Castel had made for him. It was some kind of herbal remedy, hot and oddly reminiscent of a strawberry pastry. The warmth settled into him, relaxing his body and mind. Despite having been awake since 2 a.m., the tea made him feel as if he'd had a full night's sleep. The clock now read 7 a.m. Sunlight streamed through the windows as students began arriving for the final Friday of summer school.

The scent of tea lingered in the air. It tasted as good as it smelled, but the warmth did nothing to settle the unease in his stomach.

The ticking clock sounded like a drumbeat in his ears, each tick counting down the seconds until his sentence—until his downfall.

It was too much. He wanted to stand, leap out the window, and follow through with his escape plan. But it was too late.

They knew. He knew. And soon, the world would know what he had done.

His knee bounced with restless energy. His stomach felt like a balloon, tight and ready to burst.

Maybe this is what Dante felt in his final moments.

Thomas sat silently, listening to the faint voices outside and the steady ticking of the clock. His headache had vanished shortly after he began drinking the tea. The whispers and shadows were gone, too. He slowly scanned the room, taking in the pictures, shelves lined with awards, and plaques the principal had earned over the years.

A murmur outside the door made him tense.

"Any signs of Dante?" asked a voice Ms. Riley's, he thought.

Guilt tightened in his chest. He had failed her. He had failed Castel. He would never see his only friend again. And after what he had done, there was no future left for him. The thoughts weighed heavy on his brain, but they still didn't compare to the moment he had actually done it.

They won't find him. His corpse is in an alleyway. The words looped in his mind, relentless.

Then, silence.

The door creaked open. The principal stepped in.

He was an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. Thomas looked away, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. The man's presence filled the room tall, broad, dressed in a sharp grey suit. He took care of himself, his athletic frame still visible beneath the fabric.

Thomas had never had a problem with him. He was intimidating, sure, but fair. A stand-up guy who had come to this academy with the hope of helping all kinds of students.

"Thomas, can you tell me what happened? In detail," the principal asked. His name was James, but Thomas couldn't remember it right then. It had slipped from his mind.

"Dante was bullying me... I went to punch him, but I thought I missed. Instead, he just... started bleeding from all his face holes. His nose, ears, mouth, everything. Then he swelled up like a balloon and hit the ground."

The words rushed out of him. Fast. Nervous. His stomach twisted. If there had been anything in it besides tea, he might've thrown up.

James gave a small wave toward the door.

It opened.

And stepped Dante.

Chubby. Quiet. Alive.

Thomas froze. Dante's eyes locked on him, filled with a simmering rage that promised fists after school. But Thomas wasn't focused on that.

The world froze again.

Dante’s stupid, bloated face stared at him.

Everything felt cold. Voices rushed through Thomas’s head—disbelief, doubt, the creeping fear that maybe he was losing his mind, even though he knew exactly what he had seen.

His eyes darted to James, Ms. Riley, and Castel. They were all staring at him, their faces tight with worry and confusion.

The clock had stopped ticking. The tea had lost its steam.

And yet, he still saw Dante’s corpse—standing right next to Dante. Two sets of eyes. Both locked on him.

Both cutting straight through him.

His body shot backward, tipping over the chair and sending the glass cup flying. It shattered across the floor. He stumbled back, pale as a ghost.

"No. No, no! He was dead! He was lying there dead!" Thomas screamed, eyes wide, voice cracking. Ms. Riley and Castle appeared in the doorway, their faces etched with worry as if watching someone unravel.

James raised a hand and turned to Dante.

"Dante, please. Tell us what you saw."

Dante hesitated, then cleared his throat. His eyes darted away.

"We... We were in an alley. Alone. You swung at me. I closed my eyes to brace for it, and when I opened them, you were gone."

It didn't make sense. None of it made sense.

The room felt unreal like it was bending and shifting. Thomas felt sick. He was detached as if he were floating above his own body, watching this unfold from a distance.

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Just a dry rasp.

Ms. Riley gently guided Dante out and turned back with a frown.

"Maybe... we should adjust his medication. Thomas, you've been taking it, haven't you?"

He hadn't. He wouldn't. But before he could respond, James cut in.

"Ms. Riley, I need to speak with Thomas alone, and since Castel found him, I'd like him to stay, too."

Ms. Riley hesitated, glancing at Thomas like she might never see him again. The door clicked shut behind her.

Castel stepped in, uprighted the chair, and then crouched to collect the shattered pieces of glass and mop up the spilled tea. When he finished, he sat beside Thomas and gently guided him back into the chair.

Thomas stayed quiet. His mind raced. Everything felt like a trap.

Maybe I am crazy, he thought, watching James speak but hearing nothing.

Castel was talking, too. Still, no sound.

Thomas pressed his palms to his ears, trying to force sound back into them. A dull ache began to build behind his temples, and his breath quickened.

Why can't I hear anything?

Suddenly, the world snapped back into place. The clock ticked, James cleared his throat, and Castel's chair squeaked.

"Thomas," James said, "we think you're special."

Castel leaned on one elbow, overseeing him.

"We want to take you to a new school. One Castel attends. They send us advisors every year to recruit students with extraordinary gifts like yours."

Before he could finish, Thomas interrupted.

"Crazy people," he muttered, bitter. "You recruit nut jobs. That's where all the kids go when they vanish because you think they're insane?"

James and Castel fell silent for a moment.

"It's not like that," Castel said gently. "I've been going for over a year. The school can help you. The migraines, the pressure in your head, the paranoia, everything. They understand."

Thomas stared at him. How did he know about that? He hadn't told him. Ms. Riley, maybe? But he trusted her. Didn't he?

His thoughts spiraled, but Castel's sincerity grounded him. Slowly, the gears in his mind clicked into place.

He rubbed his palms against his jeans and stared at the floor.

What would Ms. Riley think if he left the school to follow Castel into a new world?

And Samuel—would he be okay without him? What would happen to the orphanage? What would happen to him?

The soft ticking of the clock returned, steady and quiet. The eyes were still on him.

His thoughts began to fog.

At least there was one bright side—no more Dante. He couldn’t face him again. Couldn’t handle seeing a corpse alive and walking around.

He wouldn’t. He refused to.

"Fine," he whispered.

It was all too much. The last twelve hours had been a nightmare.

He just wanted to sleep.