EVERYONE,
WE HAVE A SOLEMN ANNOUNCEMENT.
AFTER A LONG WEEK OF SEARCHING FOR PROFESSOR WREN MARTIN, WE HAVE FOUND AN OMINOUS PIECE OF EVIDENCE.

IN THE WOODS LEADING UP TO PROFESSOR MARTIN AND THEIR ROOMMATE, LARISSA CARRIS' APARTMENT BUILDING, WE HAVE FOUND THREE THINGS.

NUMBER ONE, A CRYING AND DIRTY LARRISA CARRIS,

NUMBER TWO, A TORN, BURNT AND WORN LEATHER BOUND JOURNAL,

AND NUMBER THREE, A BIG, WHITE VAN ENGULFED IN BRIGHT, BOILING FLAMES. THIS METAL ELEPHANT BURNING IN THE COOL, DEWY MORNING AIR.

WHILE THE AUTOPSY HAS NOT YET BEEN COMPLETELY, A BODY WAS FOUND IN THE VAN,

A BODY THAT COULD VERY MUCH BE OF YOUR PROFESSOR, WREN MARTIN.

WE REGRET OUR CONSTANT COMPLAINING.
WE REGRET OUR GRIEVANCES AGAINST THEM.
WE REGRET THE DECISION WE MADE TO BE ANNOYED WITH PROFESSOR MARTIN.
THEY WERE ONLY MORTAL.
THEY WERE ONLY A TEACHER,
ONLY A FILMMAKER,
ONLY AN ARTIST,
ONLY A HUMAN.
NOW A LIFE MOST LIKELY GONE FOREVER AND FOR WHAT REASON? WE HAVE NO IDEA.
WE CAN'T KNOW WHY THEIR LIFE IS GONE. WE DO KNOW THAT WE ARE FILLED WITH GUILT. OUR LAST WORDS WERE MOST CERTAINLY NOT KIND.

IN THE TIME AND SPACE OF MORTALITY, WHO KNOWS WHEN DEATH MAY STRIKE?

NO. WHO KNOWS WHEN THE UNIVERSE OR FATE OR SIMPLY TWO PEOPLE WILL CONSPIRE AGAINST THAT MORTAL EXISTENCE?

THIS IS OUR RESOLUTION.
WE WILL PROTECT MORTALS,


AT ALL COSTS.


WE WILL CONTINUE TO UPDATE YOU, AS INFORMATION DEVELOPS.
WITH CONDOLENCES,
GROTTO GHOST MANAGEMENT INC.

I know it is perhaps, not kosher to just post directly to the GROTTO G.S.M. journal, but I must in this dire situation. Please, Students, listen.

The knock at my door was not benevolent. It was not neighbors bringing me a warm plate of cookies or more likely, coming to yell at me for being too loud, but instead two tall figures grabbing me and putting me in a large duffel bag. Currently, I am in the back of a cold, metal van, after what seems like years of being carried about in a duffel bag. They played loud music out of what I imagine are boomboxes on their shoulders, giving me no ability to call for help.

Luckily, now that I am in the van, I have been able to retrieve my journal, that I always keep hidden with me. Students, I do not know my fate. I have no certainty in my existence or lack of, no one does. Before this true uncertainty settles I must tell you about what happened to me, only a few nights ago.

I was walking down a path through some woods that led to my apartment complex. It is very close to the school, so I go down it everyday. At this point, it was so familiar that I could walk down it with no thought and that was exactly what I was doing.

Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw a gaggle of people behind me clad in pastel polo shirts, fishnet tops, skin tight leather pants and hair up in brightly colored Mohawks. I was startled. No one regularly walked down this path, especially at this time. I scolded myself silently, due to my mindlessness I had missed this.

At first, I was unconcerned, but as the path winded forward and they took none of the forking paths, I became worried. They were trailing rather close and they were rather quiet. I turned down a path I knew that would send them back to Psychic High. If they had been using the path normally, they would not follow me, I hypothesized. Sure enough, they turned down the path with me.

I thought they were following then. Well, I knew they were following me. They were either armatures, or experts that wanted me to be intimidated, but no normal group walks that close to an individual, without ulterior motives.
I felt it from the bottom of my toes, two things flooding my system. First, the instant panic found, when you realize you are being followed by a group of people on empty path, who can't certainly have good intentions.

But I also felt a cascading river of liquid fate. It filled up the empty spaces between my ligaments and bones and hit my soul whispering it an intention. This fate like an angry and rocking ocean made me run off the path and into the aspen tree woods that surrounded it. I was so close to the school. It made no sense not to go back to the people and students and staff that I knew and loved and in return, somewhat knew and tolerated me. The liquid fate had a chemical reaction with the panic,producing a intoxicating gas that put my feet and soul in charge.

I turned into the trees rushing, rushing, rushing. I was in no shape to be running, but this cocktail of panic and fate forced my foot to make contact with soil, then lift and touch and lift and touch and lift and touch.
I could hear the awkwardly dressed gaggle having trouble navigating the woods. It was filled with branches leaping out to grab. Branches that would love to take a taste of fishnet.
The panic shrugged away just bit, but I kept running, running, running. Soon, the panic whir-pooled, as I heard the pounding footsteps, heaving breathing, and squeak of leather pants close behind me.

They were gaining on me. I pushed and rushed and ran. I heard them closer and closer and closer ,until I could feel breath.
I was getting close to a clearing filled up by a hill. I just had to make it up the hill. I just had to make it up the hill. Why? I had no idea. That whisper of an intention that liquid fate told my soul, it knew why I needed to get up that hill. I did not.
I felt a hand brushing against my arm, no not brushing, clasping desperately.
I had no time to scream, it only forced my forward faster and into the clearing.
up the hill
up the hill
up the hill
the person was close behind me.
up the hill
up the hill
up the hill
I was halfway up, I was going to make, I was going to make
up the hill
up the hill
snap
roll
tumble
I'm on back looking up at a grey sky. What happened? I tripped? It doesn't matter. He already has the advantage. I look up a pale eyed boy with wide grin and a polo torn across where a logo once was. His shiny blue Mohawk reflecting the light of the sharp knife in his hand.
The panic rushed up to meet my lips as he raised up the knife to strike me down. A scream nearly leaped out of my lips to provide the soundtrack for my final moments, but then
the boy looked up
and his face fell
and he dropped his knife
I looked up and saw it
up on the hill
up on the wonderful hill
was the @Level 9 Bouncy House
in all it's glory.
Casting a shadow of me and the boy and the hill
was the Level 9 Bouncy House.
It let out a wild roar, not of fear or evil, but one strong in it's morality, in it's justice.
The boy began to run down the hill.
He was fast, very fast.
But the Level 9 Bouncy House, it was still better.
It soared through the air like a graceful leopard over me and following the boy in the woods.
I lied there for a moment.
Just taking it in; the bouncy house, the hill, the boy, the group, the leather pants,
THE LEVEL 9 BOUNCY HOUSE!!
and me.
Just on that hill.
Just me on that hill.

I don't know if this connects to the disappearance of the students.If this gang of hot topic puke it the answer to this mystery, but it is certainly a clue to something devious at Psychic High.

Oh no, Students, The van has stopped. Oh no, Oh no, I hear the doors opening. I am sorry, Students, I hear the sound of a gun being loaded. That panic students, that liquid fate, I hear it sloshing about inside me. I am sorry, Students, I am so very sorry.
Please, Let my T R U E A R T live, Students.
Don't forget this, Students. DON'T FORGET THIS.


Wren Martin
Your Former Teacher

HELLO EVERYONE!

WE HAVE ANOTHER MESSAGE... TODAY HAS NOT BEEN A GOOD DAY FOR MESSAGES. HOPEFULLY, PROFESSOR MARTIN WILL NOT DISAPPOINT, BUT LET'S BE HONEST, THEY ALWAYS DO.

Students, I am becoming more and more concerned about how many students are going missing and how unremembered they are. To be frank, I have become a bit obsessed with this.
I followed the paper trail of a young boy who had been in my class named Stacy Brooks. He was a vocal activist at school and was constantly on social media, sharing news articles, reporting on school events, and advertising Activism Club.
His social media and attendance were consistently busy and consistently full, but then at exactly 3:19 am, Friday, March 9th, 2018, it went completely dark. He had been late-night live streaming with the entire Activism Club, about a recent political scandal, when the screen went completely dark.
It continued live streaming all night long and at 4:15 am exactly, the video cut back in. His room was completely empty, not a speck of evidence that anyone had ever been in the room. After that his social media was empty, not one post since that day.
Every teacher in every class marks him as excused absence, but there is no record of anyone excusing it for him. He has not been to my class since. He has completely gone. I called his parents, relatives, friends, all of them hung up when I mentioned him or they said they had never know someone named Stacy, much less been friends or family with one.
It was concerning to say the least. Even more concerning after the events of last night.
I will tell you about them later, but right now someone is knocking on my door.
I miss you T R U E A R T, but I have things to do.
Professor Martin

WHAT IS THIS NONSENSE!!!
WREN IS A MANIAC! WHAT KIND OF DELUSIONAL FOOL THINKS IT IS OKAY TO STALK A STUDENTS SOCIAL MEDIA?? THIS IS DISGUSTING!!!

AND WITH A LITTLE RESEARCH, WE FOUND THAT THERE HAS NEVER BEEN A STACY WHO HAS ATTENDED PSYCHIC HIGH OR EVEN STEPPED FOOT ON PSYCHIC HIGH.
IN FACT, THERE IS NOT A STACY IN THIS ENTIRE UNIVERSE.
STACY HAS NEVER,EVER BEEN SOMEONE'S REAL NAME.
IT IS ONLY AN INVENTION FOR TEEN SLICE-OF-LIFE NOVELLAS AND ROMCOMS.
EVERYONE KNOWS THIS!! IT IS BASIC 3RD GRADE ALGEBRA, NEARLY EVERY YOUNG CHILD KNOW THERE HAS NEVER BEEN STACY IN THIS WORLD OR THE NEXT!!
SOMETHING IS TERRIBLY WRONG WITH PROFESSOR WREN MARTIN.

SOMETHING IS TERRIBLY, TERRIBLY WRONG.

THANK YOU,
GROTTO G.S.M. INC.
WE CAN ALWAYS HEAR, SEE, TASTE, FEEL, AND/OR SMELL YOU™

HELLO EVERYONE!

WE HAVE A MESSAGE FROM PROF. BRANIGAN!

Hello Students.

While I anticipated arriving last Friday, something incredibly peculiar has occurred.
I must start at the beginning. I drafted my journal post while waiting to board my flight. I had finished writing up about my experience and needed to update everyone, that I would arriving soon.

While the matters of my trip are an entirely different story, I must say it was very,very,very odd. So, when I saw people lurking around with techno-colored Mohawks, pastel polos, fishnet tops and tight leather pants I thought nothing of it. It was the least of my trips oddities.

But when they slowly began to migrate towards me, I became a little concerned. Could they possibly be some extension of the horrors I have seen so far? Some techno-colored thugs coming to prevent my escape? Then I thought, Achava, do not be so full of yourself, just stand up and you will see that they just have the same flight as you.

Of course, when I did stand up and walk off, they did follow, why else would I write this? I felt the anxiety rising up from my toes. I just needed to find a familiar person. I bee lined for a little coffee/convenience shop I had purchased from earlier. It was run by a tall and broad shouldered girl, named Nicolette, who wore a bright blue hijab and whose thick french accent had left a permanent impression.

The panic rising up to my throat wanted me to turn and see if they were still following me, but I forced myself forward, not looking until I reached the shop. I turned around, expecting to see them lagging close by, poorly concealing their chase, but I saw the pale white face of a blue haired man.
I jumped back, startled. The entire crew of pastel polo clad people stood inside the small coffee shop.

The panic in my throat rose urging me to scream, but I swallowed and choked out, "The weathers been nice, hasn't it?"
"Very," The man smiled back.
I pushed my face into the shape of a smile, but I doubt it felt real. I know they could smell my panic.
"Are you buying anything?" Nicolette rambled, "You have to leave, If you won't, I can't have..."
One of the girls grabbed a can of peanuts by the register and slammed it down, "This and seven lattes to go,"
Nicolette nodded and went though double doors to her little back kitchen to make the coffee. What I friend, she is! I thought, but then I did realize that I had only had a five minute conversation and what might have felt like a friendly connection was most likely just a bushiness owner being polite to her customers.
And upon this realization, dread filled my bones.

These oddly dressed people did nothing just stood around standing at me.
"What flight are you on?" The pale man said.
"Oh, just back to um, Cuba," I swore at myself in my head.
"Oh really?" He held his hand out and shook it around and the girl tossed the peanuts to him.
He opened the lid and safety seal slowly. I wanted desperately to use a sense of charm to alleviate the situation, but I could say nothing. I was too scared that panic would push out my mouth, instead of coherent words.
He munched on the peanuts loudly, slowly. It was agonizing.
I glanced down him and noticed a small detail on his polo. I squinted to see it and my stomach dropped, as it absorbed the image.
"Yep," He smiled. He turned around and slapped down cash on the table. He snapped his fingers and the entire group walked off.

My entire body shook.
My hands sweating and my heart beating nearly out of my chest.

I glanced over to my gate. My suitcase still there with the knew addition of the polo-ed people.
They were waiting for me.
I hurried in the other direction of the gate. I needed to leave the airport. I needed to leave the airport NOW.
I raced down the hallway, trying to make myself look causal, but the panic didn't care to much, so I am sure I looked odd.
Well I know I looked odd, because the Mohawk people immediately noticed me and sprinted after.
I dove into an off limits hallway. I was certainly not fit enough for this sprint, but the adrenaline pushed me forward. I jumped into a staff elevator and rid it down.

At this point, a brown skinned girl running about into unauthorized hallways brought the both reasonable and racist concerns of the airport security. So, now, I am being detained in the airport security questioning office, certainly better than the fear of the leather panted people.
Luckily, I still have my passport and journal with me and at this point, they are the only things I need.

And the logo, on the polo? It was the embroidered logo of Grotto Ghost Management Severs, printed underneath it "LOOSE ENDS? TIED UP - CLEANUP SQUAD".

I will continue to update you students, but my future looks bleak.

NO! ACHAVA IS SUPPOSED TO BE THE GOOD ONE... SHE NOT SUPPOSED TO....
GROTTO G.S.M. WOULD NEVER ENGAGE IN SUCH LUDICROUS ACTIVITIES, NOR WOULD WE EVER CHOSE A DUMB SLOGAN LIKE "LOOSE ENDS? TIES UP". NO, THAT DOESN'T EVEN FIT WITH OUR BRAND.
ACHAVA, THOSE ARE FAKES! WHY WOULD WE WANT TO PREVENT YOU FROM RETURNING? WE CONSTANTLY PRAISE YOU FOR BEING BETTER THAN WREN!!! OR YOU JUST LOOKED AT WRONG, AND IT IS SOME OTHER PASTEL THEMED COMPANIES CLEANUP TEAM, BECAUSE IT IS CERTAINLY NOT OURS!!!!!!

THANK YOU,
GROTTO G.S.M. INC.
WE CAN ALWAYS HEAR, SEE, TASTE, FEEL, AND/OR SMELL YOU™

HELLO EVERYONE!

WE HAVE A MUCH ANTICIPATED UPDATE FROM PROFESSOR ACHAVA BRANIGAN AND AFTER AN "ESSAY" FROM PROFESSOR MARTIN.

Hello Students.
I am returning to Psychic High School.
I will arrive tomorrow morning, just in time for the HUMAN BEINGS AND THE ART OF FILM class.
I can't wait to see all of you.
Thank you
Achava

WELL, IT IS SHORT AND SWEET! JUST HOW WE LIKE IT.
AND NOW....
PROFESSOR WREN MARTIN.... WITH A CONVOLUTED OBSERVATION IN THE FORM OF A SURREALIST ESSAY...

Students, I have a concern. Students are going missing by the dozens. @Agatha Crispie and @Ava Elisabeth 's roommates (@Dahlia Makes Tea and @EmilyDH) have gone missing and tons of other students as well. These students are rarely taken note of, usually by a dedicated roommate or curious friend ,like @Carol Song.
Each week I see less students attending my class. Each week the pathways and courtyards are little more empty. Each week the cafeterias and ghost gardens and blood stone circles are not quite as packed.
Students are going missing with no mention of it!
When I talk to my fellow professors and staff, they simply ignore me or act like I am being crazy, or even put fingers in the ears and scream at the top of their lungs, "NANANANANANA I CAN'T HEAR YOU!!" over and over again, until I drop the subject.
This has concerned me since I began here, at Psychic High, but it has grown more and more concerning, as the school's once dense population has thinned without alarm.
And I've checked school records, none of the missing students are on holiday or have dropped out. They are just marked as an excused absence, in every one of their classes, everyday.
Students, I will update you on this issue later, but for now farewell and tell T R U E A R T, I said "hi".
-Professor Martin

STUDENTS ARE NOT GOING MISSING!

WHO TOLD YOU THAT, W R E N M A R T I N? S T U D E N T S, ARE NOT GOING MISSING, W R E N.

NO ONE IS GOING MISSING.
NO ONE HAS EVER GONE MISSING.
NO ONE WILL EVER GO MISSING.

WHAT DOES MISSING EVEN MEAN, W R E N?
WHAT DO Y O U EVEN MEAN, W R E N?
WHAT DOES NO ONE MEAN, W R E N?

"STUDENTS ARE NOT GOING MISSING?"
YES, STUDENTS ARE NOT GOING MISSING.

NO ONE IS GOING ANYWHERE.

THANK YOU,
GROTTO G.S.M. INC.
WE CAN ALWAYS HEAR, SEE, TASTE, FEEL, AND/OR SMELL YOU™

HELLO EVERYONE!

WE HAVE ANOTHER ESSAY! "YAY"! THIS IS SO "GREAT"! WE "LOVE" THIS SO "MUCH"!!

Hello students, You're next assignment is to write a poem after the following words:
1. Death
2. Breath
3. and long after living respect.
The poem must be fourteen lines long.
The poem must include the word/phrase you choose.
The poem must have at least one rhyme, otherwise it can be rhyming or non-rhyming.
I was given this challenge during a film making boot camp and it tells a lot more about yourself then you would like to think. or not. What do I know?
Here is an example from the first time I did this challenge.

Death.
"What's that?"
She asked.
I was tasked with finding the answer.
New tab:
I type:
Death?
then add:
Death??
For good measure.
I look through results,
then I find a treasure.
I call her over.
She looks.
We see.
I click play.
The images spin.
Black tea spins in a cup
in the hands of an old woman sitting under
a peach tree.
She looks happy, then into our eyes,
"Forget what they said, nobody dies,"
So here,
Her and I
sit together under our own peach tree,
forever.

That's all for now students, and as always, students, stay on the hunt for T R U E A R T, and if you have found it, be a dear old friend and find it's long lost youth.

THIS IS STRANGE... OKAY, WE DON'T HATE THIS ONE.
WELL, THAT'S ALL THEN. WE ARE CAUTIOUSLY OPTIMISTIC ABOUT THE FUTURE OF THESE ESSAYS.

THANK YOU
GROTTO G.S.M. INC.
WE CAN ALWAYS HEAR, SEE, TASTE, FEEL, AND/OR SMELL YOU™

HELLO EVERYONE!

WE HAVE ANOTHER ESSAY FROM PROFESSOR WREN. WE ARE FINE. WE ARE NOT ANNOYED...

OKAY HERE IT IS:

Your Productivity does not Determine Your Worth.
It something rarely thought of in a society that values works so highly.
Your Productivity does not Determine Your Worth.
The ability to work or work the way people you want you to, that has nothing to do with your worth.
Your Productivity does not Determine Your Worth.
A bad day, week, month, year, that does not determine your worth.
Your Productivity does not Determine Your Worth.
Your existence has value beyond doing a job.
Your Productivity does not Determine Your Worth.
Being productive is no means bad. Working is in no means bad. Neither should have a hold on the well being of your soul.
Your Productivity does not Determine Your Worth.
You value is not determined on your usefulness to others.
Your Productivity does not Determine Your Worth.
Your Productivity does not Determine Your Worth.

I have always torn myself apart for not doing perfect. I have always torn myself apart for not doing well. I have always torn myself apart for doing poorly.
Of course, Improvement is always a goal of mine, but never ever should
look into the mirror with despise, hate my very existence, hate my very soul
my very being, because I have not done perfect or well or poorly in work.

My Productivity does not Determine My Worth.
Your Productivity does not Determine Your Worth.
I have value.
You have value.

While this may be out of my typical style, It is something that needed to be said, written, and documented for all of you read, hear and absorb. And as always, students, stay on the hunt for T R U E A R T, and if you have found it, be a dear old friend and fetch it the United States' fascination with capitalism.

THIS IS!!! THIS IS AN ABOMINATION!!!!!!!! THIS IS BLASPHEMY!!!

GROTTO GHOST SERVER MANAGEMENT INCORPORATED DOES NOT AGREE WITH THE IDEAS AND STATEMENTS EXPRESSED BY PROFESSOR WREN MARTIN, NOR ARE THE IDEAS AND STATEMENTS EXPRESSED BY PROFESSOR WREN MARTIN REPRESENTATIVE OF GROTTO GHOST SERVER MANAGEMENT INCORPORATED MISSION, BUSINESS PRACTICES, OR OVERALL VIEW.

THANK YOU
GROTTO G.S.M. INC.
WE CAN ALWAYS HEAR, SEE, TASTE, FEEL, AND/OR SMELL YOU™

HELLO EVERYONE!

WE HAVE AN UPDATE FROM PROF. BRANIGAN!!! (YESSS!!)

Students,
You may have heard of the recent miraculous plane from India to Wales. The story is that somehow, through some means, a plane, leaving on the 15th of last month from India, managed to make no stops and not land in Wales until the 20th of last month.
There was no evidence of the plane ever touching land and all sensors were intact. There was no evidence of even a struggle, only the haunting results after the plane landed.
It arrived with the entire flight crew missing, a small fraction of the passengers still on board at Llanbedr Airport, instead of the planned Cardiff Airport. The only passengers left were dazed, silent people. Their pupils grown to the size of saucers and their lips sealed. No one could get them to talk, all of them admitted to the top psych hospitals with no success.
The only person who talked or responded was a dark haired woman who claimed to have landed the plane, saying only,
"What else? Paths uncovered never forget. My steps fall with pained silence, even silenced pain. The hollowed hill knows no matter what, no matter how much we see, smell,hear, taste or feel," after being questioned how she landed the plane with no experience. She disappeared soon after and was unable to be found by the press. The only evidence of her existence, a quote and a hurried, blurry picture.

My twin sister, Leheva Branigan, has been documenting my families history in an effort to preserve it. She planned to write a book on the subject once she had completed her research. For this research, She had traveled all over, to track the path of my family. She had been in India, but then was heading back to Wales.
She had left India from the Delhi Indira Gandhi International Airport on the 15th of last month. Her flight was planned to make one stop and arrive in Wales at the Cardiff Airport in 10 hours.
I had been tracking my sisters flight and became increasingly worried, as the plane did not show. When the news came out in the early morning of 21st, I immediately got ready to leave.

This students is my personal emergency. My sister was on that miraculous flight from India to Wales. The flight with such horrid results.

But she is not in any of the psych wards.
But she is not on the survivors list.
But she is nowhere to be found.

I then needed to now exactly who the dark haired woman was. To find any information I could. Then I saw it. The photo of the dark haired woman. It was not high quality. It was hard to make out, but I could spot the features we shared, our thin long noses and high cheekbones, our long, black hair, and our warm brown eyes.

She had to be this dark haired women.

We were planning on meeting at a train station in Paris, for our birthday, on March 2nd.
I was sure I would find her there.
Where else would she go?
I arrived at the station early in the morning and found a small metal bench. I placed my bag in between my feet. I took out my crochet project and tried to manage the growing knot of anxiety in my stomach.

The day went on
and on
and on, as days usually do.

After the sun had done their routine of stretching and yawning and descending under the horizon to rest, my scarf was nearly finished and there wasn't a sign of my sister anywhere. The platform was deserted. A train had not come for hours. My only company cheesy music pipped through fuzzy speakers.

I had nearly lost hope, nearly broken into a mess of anxiety and tears, when I saw her.

The woman from the photo, the woman who must have been my sister.

She was wearing a trench coat and her long black hair was in braid down her back. She distractedly looked around the platform and the her eyes fell on mine. It was only a flash that I saw her face, that she saw mine,but she immediately turned around and rushed down the other side of the platform.

I jumped up, "Leheva!". She moved faster. I was confused and began to ran after her. I was catching up, which surprised me. Leheva had always been more athletic than me.

When I got close enough I grabbed her shoulder lightly, making her turn quickly. I saw a flash of her face and a pit formed in my stomach. Something wasn't right.
But, my legs didn't listen to my stomach, they listened to my brain.
My brain had realized nothing.

"LEHEVA,STOP!" I yelled, getting closer, as we edged to the end of the platform. She turned to look at me and screamed a scream that only the pit in my stomach sink and turn over. It was a scream I had never heard from my sister. A scream I had never heard from a human being. It felt unearthly, ungodly, unfathomable. In her move to look at me, she tripped and hit the floor.
My stomach was ignored and my brain continued it's mission.
Unwilling to run any further, I pinned her down once I got to her, "Leheva! What is going on!? It's me, your sister!"

She howled. My stomach ached, twisted further in to a sour knot. My brain didn't connect the dots, but my very soul shuddered at the horrific sound.

"Leheva! It's me, Achava! Achava Branigan!" I suddenly realized I was crying. It was a sobbing tear of sadness. It was silent, in-passionate movement. It was unaware reaction. It was not, because my sister did not recognize me. It was because of that scream.
That horrid, horrid scream.
That scream that shook me to my bones.
Once I realized why I was crying, I only cried more. I was not choosing this, any being still possessing a soul would have done the same in the pressence of this terrible noise.
She screamed more and more.
My ears felt like they were bleeding. My vision somehow was still clear even with the tears. My mouth felt as dry as sandpaper, like it held a dead secret. The rest of my face and body felt like they were being controlled by a passive force. Not one with devious or benevolent agenda. Simply a force making me choose my future.

"LEHEVA" I flipped her over to see her face, "IT IS ACHAVA!"

My brain finally caught up. Her scream continued in it's cursed howl. Her face and features were not similar to mine, because she was my sister.

Her face in a expression perfectly possible, but still so unexplainable and horridly unnatural screamed, " I AM ACHAVA,"

Her face and features were similar to mine, because they were mine.
The dark haired woman was not my sister.
It was me.

So, Students, my short break is going to go for a little longer.
I hope you can manage.

Thank You for your Time and Patience,
Achava Branigan.


THIS IS...
THIS IS AWFUL.

THIS IS TRULY, REALLY AWFUL.

WE APOLOGIZE FOR OUR INSENSITIVITY AND WISH PROF. BRANIGAN LUCK.

THANK YOU
GROTTO G.S.M. INC.
WE CAN ALWAYS HEAR, SEE, TASTE, FEEL, AND/OR SMELL YOU™

HELLO EVERYONE!

TURNS OUT... WE CAN'T "FIRE" PROF. MARTIN. THAT'S "FINE"...
BUT EVEN THOUGH WE AREN'T ALLOWED TO "FIRE" THEM, THAT DOESN'T MEAN, WE CAN'T COMPLAIN.
WE GET CONSTANT ESSAYS EMAILED TO US AT THREE IN THE MORNING AND JUST BECAUSE WE ARE A BEING BEYOND TIME AND SPACE, THAT DOES NOT MEAN WE DON'T LIKE TO GET OUR BEAUTY SLEEP!!
YOU KNOW WE DON'T TURN OFF NOTIFICATIONS ON OUR PHONE!
WE ARE WORKAHOLICS! WE WANT TO KNOW WHAT IS HAPPENING!
BUT INSTEAD OF UPDATES ABOUT WORLD POLITICS, STOCKS, WORLD STOCKS, STOCK POLITICS, OR POLITICAL STOCKS, WE GET GOOGLE DOC NOTIFICATIONS THAT PROFESSOR MARTIN HAS SHARED A DOCUMENT WITH US, PAIRED WITH A CRYPTIC MESSAGE ABOUT T R U E A R T AND A VAGUE THANK YOU!!
THEN THE ESSAY IS SOME... SOME RIDICULOUS CRITIQUE OR SILLY ART THING!! WE ARE "JUST ANGRY" ABOUT THIS.
NOW, THE ESSAY:

Students, I do not regret the angry satire, I posted here, recently, but I do regret posting it here. I could have been more professional and put it on my blog, or emailed it to school newspaper, or made it into 99 points and put it on every door on campus and on at the entrance of the Tide Pod™ Student Worship Center, but I digress.
What I have to speak to you about today, is your next assignment. You're next assignment is to write a short story from your life. Then you must take that story and add things to make it fictional.

For example, Here is a story from my life:
Once, when I was on filming a nature documentary on global warming, I met a man who wore a large blue hat who lived on Tide Pod™ Island.He lived on hill blanketed in mist. His life dripped in humidity and mist, as much as mystery. I had gone up to the hill to interview his sister, a local historian.
His jawline was of the gods and I instantly fell for him. Yes, It was illogical, but what else was I supposed to do? Not fall in love with this mysterious, blue hatted man?
Our conversation was short, before I interviewed his sister, who lived with him on the hill, due to her old age.
He stood in the kitchen staring out the window into the stormy outdoors,
"I'm Wren, they/them," I said offering my hand with a smile.
He was silent. It was very awkward.
"Um, well I am going to go interview your sister, I like your hat," I began to walk out.
"No,I'm sorry," He said turning to me. Do note, that this is the moment I fell for him,"I like it too. What are you here for?"
"To interview you sister?"
"Oh yes! Sorry, I am a little frazzled these days," He paused and looked at my face intently, "Sometimes life is just..."
"Yeah," I said dazzled by his beautiful brown eyes.
"Yeah. It get's you down," He smiled, "Has anyone ever told you that you have impeccable fashion sense?"
I giggled and flipped my scarf dramatically, "Someone finally notices!"
He laughed and then smiled. It was genuine and warm. His jawline was of the gods and I was in love.
We stared at each other for what felt like eternity and then, Jenny, who did scheduling, came into the kitchen, "Chop, chop, Wren, we are on time budget,"
"Oh yes," I said snapping out of my daze, "See you then,"
He smiled,"See you then,"
I paused, my entire being willing him to stop me from leaving.
"Well,I'll go then!"
"Good luck!" He smiled.
I think I am still in love with him.

See, that was a short story from my life and now I'll spruce it up a bit with some fiction:

Once, when I was on filming a nature documentary on global warming, I met a man who wore a large blue hat who lived on Tide Pod™ Island.He lived on hill blanketed in mist. His life dripped in humidity and mist, as much as mystery. I had gone up to the hill to interview his sister, a local historian.
His jawline was of the gods and I instantly fell for him. Yes, It was illogical, but what else was I supposed to do? Not fall in love with this mysterious, blue hatted man?
He stood in the kitchen staring out the window into the stormy outdoors,
"I'm Wren, they/them," I said offering my hand with a smile.
He was silent. It was very awkward.
"Um, well I am going to go interview your sister, I like your hat," I began to walk out.
"No,I'm sorry," He said turning to me,"I like it too. What are you here for?"
"To interview you sister?"
"Oh yes! Sorry, I am a little frazzled these days," He paused and looked at my face intently,"My sister is old and all,"
"Yeah," I said dazzled by his beautiful brown eyes. He smiled and his large blue hat flopped upwards and I recognized him. It was Zac Efron and he was just as gorgeous up close, "Has anyone ever told you that you have impeccable fashion sense?"
I giggled and flipped my scarf dramatically, "Someone finally notices!"
I couldn't believe it! Zac Efron was flirting with me!
He laughed and then smiled. It was genuine and warm. His jawline was of the gods and I was in love. Just then, Jenny, who was in charge of scheduling, came into the kitchen.
"Wren, We've got to go,"
Zac lovingly stared into my eyes.
"I guess I'll go then," I turned to go out the door. Zac grabbed my arm, not roughly, but gently.
"What is it?"
He got down onto one knee, "Wren, I know this so fast and I've only just met you, but," He bit his lip with a pause, "Wren, Will you marry me?"
"Yes!"
We have been married ever since!
I am still in love with him today.

See, not to difficult! These stories will be due at the end of the week on Friday.
And as always, students, stay on the hunt for T R U E A R T, and if you have found it, be a dear old friend and fetch it a lost connection or better yet, it's celebrity crush.
-Professor Martin

GRRRRRRRR.....GGGGGRRRRRR!!! GRR ! GRRRRRR!!!! GRRR!
OKAY, NOW THAT'S OUT OF OUR SYSTEM, WE HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT.
WE ARE LOOKING FOR A CONSULTANT TO TRANSLATE MEMES FOR US. WE NEED TO TRANSLATE THEM FOR THE ARCHIVE, AND WE JUST DON'T GET WHY PEOPLE ARE LITERALLY DEAD OR WHY PEOPLE ARE ASKING WHO MADE WHAT, IT IS ALL JUST VERY CONFUSING.
SUBMIT RESUMES HERE TO BE CONSIDERED FOR THE POSITION.

THANK YOU,
GROTTO G.S.M. INC.
WE CAN ALWAYS HEAR, SEE, TASTE, FEEL, AND/OR SMELL YOU™

HEY "EVERYONE"!

WE HAVE ANOTHER "ESSAY" FROM "PROFESSOR" MARTIN.
WE ARE SO "GLAD" TO POST IT.
WE "HOPE" YOU "LIKE" "IT" "!"
(ALSO, WE ARE OBLIGATED TO POST THESE BASED ON OUR CONTRACT WITH PROFESSOR MARTIN, SO DON'T GO AND THINK THAT WE ACTUALLY WANT TO POST THESE)

Students, I have to apologize for my past essay about my fake husband, Zac Efron. Apparently, It was more than a little unprofessional to post about being hung over while teaching a class to high school students. I agree and admit I'm new at this.
I will do better.
But what is even more important is that I mentioned.. alcohol.
I did not know the problem with this but I through a email, from GROTTO GHOST MANAGEMENT INCORPORATED, I learned the err of my ways.

"Hello Wren! I just wanted to shoot you an email to tell you that discussions of alcohol and other touchy subjects are discouraged by both Psychic High School guidelines and GROTTO G.S.M. INC. guidelines.
We simply need to protect our children from evil. They are too young to consider these things without making rash decisions.
You have two strikes, and a third will result in losing posting privileges.
Thank you!
Intern #98703" said the email.

And of course! I apologize deeply. High school students are but children, that desperately need our protection. Why let them be exposed to the evil evil evils of this world!?
I am so very sorry, because I am sure that was the first time in every student's life that they heard about a person drinking alcohol. High school students are unaware of these things and I have no right to bring it to their attention.
I mean, having a discussion about alcohol might lead to them... having opinions about alcohol, which would be travesty!! They could end up making rash decisions!
They certainly aren't making "rash decisions" based on a lack of education, on subjects like alcohol, because it well know fact that before the age of 18, you know nothing about the evil evil evils of our world.
And to make sure I was up to date on your guidelines, I checked them out.

The first part of the first guideline is "ONLY DISCUSS AGE APPROPRIATE SEXUALITY", but what does this mean? In the description it says, and I quote,"Avoid talking about sex, in general. We ask you to follow laws about sex education in your area, as well as usually sticking to the abstinence platform, because the only safe sex is no sex!"

And this is a completely reasonable and good idea, because teenagers never have sex, unless someone talks to them about it! If you mention contraceptives and safe practices or how to navigate sexual relationships or consent, they might go and have.. safe and healthy sex! Ah! That is just so bad!
We should give them no information and avoid it at all costs, because our personal and societal shame about sex should be passed to the next generation!!
I mean, these guidelines are so helpful and valuable and I just don't know why I ever violated them!!
Because as we all know, high school students are naive and we should keep them that way!! Why should they be educated on topics that effect them? We should keep silent on touchy subjects, to make sure there is a proper amount of shame and/or silence on the subject!

Simply put, these guidelines are not suffocating to both teachers and students, but so so so so so helpful!! And as always, students, stay on the hunt for T R U E A R T, and if you have found it, be a dear old friend and fetch it a unpaid intern to write complaint emails.

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WE.....
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OKAY... SINCE ON A SURFACE LEVEL THIS IS NOT..."CRITICIZING" US, WE CAN'T "REPRIMAND" PROFESSOR MARTIN.
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GRRRR.
GRRRRRR.
GRR.
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GRR!
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THANK YOU,
GROTTO G.S.M. INC.
WE CAN ALWAYS HEAR, SEE, TASTE, FEEL, AND/OR SMELL YOU™