When he finally gazed upon the school, the yet untested harbinger of his salvation, he choked back a sob of relief. It was unchanged. Amidst a sea of rolling entrails, gibbering horrors, and maddening blackness, it remained mercifully pristine. Though mundane before evil descended here, it would not be consumed. It beamed as a brilliant white jewel, so harsh was the contrast as it resisted the darkness. Kyle's eyes proved incapable of handling the brightness which seared his pupils as they contracted in futile haste. He winced, hid his eyes under the crook of his elbow, and looked at the ground, afraid he'd been struck blind.

Kyle knew it was a trick played by the whitewash against unnatural and consuming blackness, but that didn't make staring at the scene easier. He peeked above his elbow temporarily, squinting to alleviate the pain, certain he could feel his eyes smoldering. The sight made his eyes water and his squint became a stingy slit, a minimum possible opening obscured by eyelashes and blurred in the bargain. He gritted his teeth through the temporary agony, forcing himself to gaze at his destination or risk blindly stumbling into whatever obstacle, living or otherwise, set to impede his progress.

The unnaturally slow process, though Kyle began to fear further walking impossible, finally resulted in a vision almost tolerable, though his grimace remained severe and lined his cheeks with a river of hot tears. Damn, this hurts! I didn't cry this much as a baby, he thought, mentally drinking in the school and everything in between, desperate to weld his eyelids permanently closed. Kyle sighed at the wasted effort, noticing only then nothing barred his progress, ignoring his inevitable sightless weaving. His route safe, he wasted no time retreating behind his arm to consider the indefinite picture in his memory. He didn't know which details were important, so he sat and reenforced each.

To either side of the old road, more of a worn rut really, stood former buildings crawling with a myriad of unspeakably ugly masses of animated tissue and exposed organs beating and pulsating with some sinister agenda. None of that looked particularly dangerous, considering nothing alive ventured near him, instead opting to squirm and twist like bugs cruelly pinned to cork-board for study. Kyle hastily shoved that thought away and concentrated on his need to understand his surroundings before daring to continue. Those writhing edifices were once unremarkable rubble and teetering walls, so he altered his perception to retain that previous, much less disturbing incarnation.

The school itself was difficult to ascertain. Certainly no ramshackle collection of moldering planks and thick flaking paint. It stood Impossibly tall considering its company, two stories at least, each bearing a newly applied coat of glossy white lead paint. Individual slats of horizontal pine siding radiated light along the edges, giving the school a cartoonish negative outline, like a chalk drawing against yawning oblivion. The window frames were similarly detailed, squaring perfectly intact leaded glass bearing a fancy embossed center-cross instead of extra wood supports. A small steeple divulging a modest functional bell stood proudly atop a steep, newly shingled roof. Kyle half expected the bell to ring the end of recess for the lost souls in the playground. That thing is new! Brand new! If I tried, I could probably still smell the paint! It wasn't merely a matter of freshly applied paint or the revolting linger of hot roofing tar; the school was magically under construction.

Kyle furrowed his brow at this realization. He only managed a glimpse, a fleeting snapshot of a building admittedly distant, yet the impression of ongoing flux remained. No boards groaned under settling weight, and Kyle found no odor beyond his fevered imagination, but like the hate which previously crushed him to the ground, he knew his senses lied. He tried not to dwell on the distressing concept the school was somehow building itself, and started to stir from his sitting position in the dust. Once he was standing, he feverishly patted his jeans with his hands, determined to expel every possible speck of tainted earth from their already grimy state. His jeans were normally so filthy his mother never failed to joke they could stand up without him, but he didn't care; this dirt simply had to go. That chore accomplished, he simply stood resolute, eyes closed, breathing the cool mist and readying his mettle.

Then he lifted his right foot and took a step forward. A small amount of progress after countless hours lay vanquished in the wake of his arrival. Kyle felt years older after that single pace, experienced and lamented puberty in a single instant, and forged beyond. Kyle dragged his foot forward, scraping a deep gorge in the gritty dirt, shifting his weight and bearing down and hissing through his teeth. This pronounced gait became a haphazard shuffle; Kyle careened left and right crazily but still straight and true. The scraping became a light jog as Kyle turned to lifting each weary leg. The jog transformed to a run, then a hard sprint as he pushed his flagging body and choking lungs to respective limits even as his strength failed. His body balked at this cruel use, threatening to fail and send him crashing into a mound of flagellating guts. His legs flexed like rubber, rapidly spending their momentum until weak and useless. Kyle flew into a headlong stride, uncaring as each supporting system sputtered and failed; he'd fly to the school if necessary.

Kyle sucked in labored breaths, coughing occasionally and wheezing constantly. His heart thundered powerfully, each beat clearly discernable through his shirt. Never before had he simultaneously run so fast, yet moved so slowly. His mental vision of the school was closer, but he'd been running for far more than a few measly yards. At his body's state of disintegration, he guessed he covered at least a mile. Two? More? It was patently ridiculous, yet altogether real, and still he ran. How much further? Is there a team of horses dragging the damn thing away?! He never slowed, even sped up slightly as the futility sank into his frantic pace. Each time he vowed to quit, nearly crying through the pain in his legs, somehow he continued to run.