Ring around the rosie
Pocketful of posie
We all fall down.
Tension and unease build up and topple him, and as he falls the school falls with him. Like a fissure in ice that quickly spreads, his collapse sends the others into madness. Shaking hands grasp at shoulders damp with sickly sweat, angry voices fill the hall. Friends attack friends, even-tempered students wail nonsense. Those who remain sane are frightened, their world is shattered and somehow they feel fine.
A desperate cry for help brings people who try to save the world. They do not realize that the world was beyond help, and had been since that fateful, feverish night in Nevada. Those violent ones are silent now, pale and still and unmoving. A place that once held such life and joy becomes a dark room full of almost-corpses. There is no sorrow, only fear, for none are dead. There is no hope, only bleakness.
Some mysteries are meant to remain unsolved, just as some lives are meant to end. It occurs to each of them, but how can it possibly be valid? How can one justify the death of nearly half the student body? Giving up was the only option in a futile descent.
Those lifeless ones share a mindset, be it delusional and dreary, and simultaneously they recognize that they cannot say goodbye. Maybe if they tell each other, and walk hand in hand away from everything they know, it could compensate for being alone in a void of darkness as their desperate hearts slowed to a stop.
One boy, still burning with hope, rushing through the streets, does not dare to give up on a happy ending. He fights and fights, yet struggles, and that end result he believes in floats away too fast. Still he runs, racing disease, raging against the dying of the light, but with s nauseous feeling he realizes he might not make it.
And he won't.