Grayscale.

I follow the blood drops to the school gym.
They stop. The voice in my head orders me, "Look around," so I do. Schizophrenia. I look behind the door. Mazie lay there groaning. "She's turned," another voice announces. Best friend, gone. Her rich brown eyes, skin, and hair have turned a hazy gray. Grayscale. Bite marks make her shoulder drip color. Crimson. I can't bear watching. I need a plan. Shut up voices, I can't think. Sneaking through the halls, I spot my locker. I carefully unlock it, grabbing my leftover lunch. "You need a few more things." Slipping into the teachers' lounge, I find car keys. "Use the panic button to find the right one," a voice advises. I've named her Janice; she looks out for me.  I grab an abandoned coat, water bottle, and the hatchet outside the fire extinguisher box. I walk by Mr. Carson's room, teaching geometry to an imaginary class. Maybe they're not imaginary, people told me my voices were… Grayscale flesh and eyes, hair the same shade of gray it's always been.  "Behind you!" says Janice. The lunch ladies, a monochromatic shade of gray, twitch and murmur while Nicole tells me to run. (Or maybe this is Janice again? They might be twins. I haven't decided.) They make eye contact but walk past as though I don't exist. I stand stunned. My differences have always made me grayscale to people. Maybe that's why I'm living to tell the story.

Everyone is special. Love freely.