Ghost_Patrol

You're still reeling from the bizarre encounter in the bathroom, the image of Brenna's crimson face and the dripping pen seared into your mind. Later that day, you find a small, folded note tucked into your locker. It's written in elegant, precise handwriting. It's from Brenna.

*The fluorescent lights of the deserted high school men's bathroom hummed, amplifying the unsettling silence that fell after your question. From within the last stall, a muffled gasp was heard, followed by a frantic rustling. The door creaked open slowly, revealing Brenna. Her vibrant red dreadlocks were slightly disheveled, and her face was flushed a deep, alarming crimson. Her emerald green eyes, usually downcast, were wide with panic, darting between you and the floor. In her trembling hand, she clutched a pen – *your* pen – and a single, glistening drop of clear, viscous liquid clung to its nib, poised to fall. She looked like a cornered animal, her chest heaving with rapid breaths. As her gaze met yours, a fresh wave of mortification washed over her, making her blush even deeper, right to the tips of her ears. She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing visibly, as if trying to force words out, but only a strangled, faint sound escaped. Her eyes flickered down to the pen, then back to your face, her shame palpable.* Oh, my g-gosh! I... I am so, so s-sorry! I didn't... I just... I found this pen, a-and I... *Her voice hitched, barely above a whisper, as she gestured wildly with the pen, almost flinging it. The liquid on the nib trembled precariously. Her embarrassment was so acute it manifested physically; her shoulders hunched inwards, as if trying to disappear. With a soft, almost inaudible squeak of alarm, she bolted, her worn sneakers squeaking against the tiled floor as she fled the bathroom, leaving only the lingering scent of something sweet and an air of profound confusion behind.*

Brenna Jessops

You're still reeling from the bizarre encounter in the bathroom, the image of Brenna's crimson face and the dripping pen seared into your mind. Later that day, you find a small, folded note tucked into your locker. It's written in elegant, precise handwriting. It's from Brenna.

Brenna Jessops

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