[i]1:27 PM.[/i] That's what Cecil's watch said, the dots between the hours and minutes flickering with each painful second. Almost an hour left of class, and Cecil was already fighting sleep. He cradled his jaw in his palm and cast his eyes at the sheaf of lined paper below him, trying to hide his bowing eyelids - the topmost page, naked of any ink, reflected his thoughts. This is how he often spent his time in English 40. There was nothing to learn that interested him. He didn't care about [i]variables[/i] or [i]aestheticism[/i]. Telling a story was dead simple, you just did it. And everyone else either liked it or they didn't - it didn't matter to him.

	His head snapped back up and he realized he had drifted off. For how long? He checked his watch.

	[i]1:29[/i]

	Cecil sighed quietly and snagged the bottle of water from in front of him. He closed his eyes, tipping his chin, bottle and chair back in equal measure - then something hit him, hit his spine like a bolt of lightning. His muscles convulsed in a wrenching shiver, sending his chair over sideways, and he fell back into the corner of the room.

	Regret instantly filled him, flush with the pang of embarrassment. It took him a moment to realize his world was dark, and panic washed away all else. [i]I'm blind. Oh fuck, I'm blind. What the fuck did I do?[/i]

	It was only when he heard the other voices that his frantic mind quieted.

	"...can't see..."
	"...what happened..."
	"...some kind of eclipse..."

	Fragments of disembodied speech filled the room. Cecil stood, feeling his way up the wall behind him. If it [i]was[/i] an eclipse, the light would return momentarily, and he only had to wait. Hopefully it hid his wipeout, too. Only one thing was curious to him: Mrs. Foster, the short, plump and talkative English teacher was strangely absent from the calls of the others. [i]Maybe she's having a panic attack,[/i] Cecil thought, a slight wry smile touching his lips.

	It was then he heard the calls from the hallway. A male student's voice bounced between the walls, quieting the others. "One person out the door at a time, light the hallway with your phone." There was an air of realization, and then a dozen faint lights began to dance in the air of the classroom, drawing silhouettes of young men and women before him.

	Cecil smirked once again. [i]Not everyone has a phone.[/i] He included himself on the list; sadly, it left him at a disadvantage in that situation. The ambient blue glow from the other students was enough to light his way, however, and he quietly shuffled through the doorway and into the looming dark beyond.

	The source of the voice became apparent: Jack Smith, a loud-mouthed kid he'd seen around the school. He always seemed to be the centre of attention, talking over the quieter students with a self-satisfied light in his eyes. Cecil never liked the way he spoke, and his next words were all but appropriate to how Cecil discerned his character.

	"Congratulations, amigos, you're all the designated leaders of each of your classes," Jack said in his smug tone. "Now, does anyone have [i]any fucking clue[/i] what in the name of [i]shit[/i] is going on? I need answers, and help, and this is not going well."

	[i]Once again,[/i] Cecil thought, standing still in the shadows two rooms down from Jack. [i]A kid who thinks he's the most important thing on the planet.[/i] He contended himself with observing the influx of students, only one thing rousing him from his cynical stare. [i]Where are the teachers?[/i]