First Period

It's just like any other day, me stirring in class whilst you bustle around trying to look busy, covering for me.

Feeling a little detached today, I decide to freshen up, escaping the moody and uneventful class; to stretch my legs.

It felt good, being able to stand after seated for so long. My blouse felt heavy, the fabric damp and adhering to my bottom. Naught was amiss from that. I sweated excessively, and unfortunately, bum sweat was unexcused.

The class was quiet as usual, after all, it was Bloomish's class. I suspected a majority of my fellow covenant brethren were taking a snooze; a little shut eye now and then was actually rather beneficial.

Breezing past my fellow classmates, I inched nearer and nearer to the aged teacher. From afar, he looked to sport a head of white; but as I sidled up next to him, his hair appeared more silvery grey than anything I've seen before.

Details. They've always intrigued me. The little things many of us overlook, take for granted, and simply ignore.

"Sir, may I go to the bathroom?" I squeaked meekly. Pausing from his monotonous droning about plurals and nouns, he peered at me through his tortoiseshell glasses and mumbled intelligibly for a few precious seconds, before turning his back towards me; resuming from where I interrupted.

Taking his slurred mumbling as a yes, I quietly trudged out of the dank room, trembling with excitement, knowing that I would not only pay a visit to the loo, but also to the park beyond the church compound.

* * *

At my own unmatched pace, I lumbered down the empty hallways, savouring my newfound freedom.

The last few steps before entering the ladies room felt odd. I felt a mysterious syrup like fluid trailing down the inner walls of my thighs, gumming them together. Every other step felt squelchy with strangely warm lubrication, like the innards of the freshly slaughtered cow I saw cook tend to yesterday.

Apart from that, my torso seemed lethargic from my little stroll. Exhausted even.

My hands trembled as I reached for the brass tap mounted on the cracked porcelain washbasin. Steeling myself, I grasped the edges of the sink to give myself strength. Slowly, I hoisted my near slouching body up, parking myself directly parallel from the floor-to-ceiling mirror.

I was bleeding.

To my shallow extents of understanding, periods are somewhat like depressive episodes. It creeps on you unknowingly, and by the time you realise it's presence; the damage had been done.

Subtle as they are, the signs are present. Yet, primary precautionary methods and actions were not instigated. Blowing off the indicators of our bodies being unwell, we assume that all is good.

We lower our guards towards the warnings we emit towards ourselves. We believe.
Believe, and still do.

* * *

Maybe I'm wrong. I know nothing of this and that, yet maybe I actually do.

I know nothing, yet nothing recognises me; not.

Erratic Behaviour