Attempt: 3

    Tears rushed down her cheeks profusely. Her panic hyperventilating felt like it could choke her to death at any moment. She was psychologically distraught. Worst of all… she was right back inside the same classroom. Right back where she started, yet again. And just like last time, she could remember every single detail… every single second. She could feel it all.

     In a fright, she rushed out of the room and immediately searched for an exit. She needed a way out. The torture was turning unbearable.

     She ran back towards the staircase and dashed straight down to the first floor. She landed in what could be best described as a lobby, however, it stretched on into the distance in one direction, and was met with a set of double doors in the opposite.

     Without second guessing it she turned to head straight for the doors but was stopped short when she noticed that the wall was covered in bizarre polaroid pictures.

     Each photograph had an image of a student sitting at a desk in a dark room with their faces covered. Not much could be made aside from that, except for the fact that there were tons of these photographs plastered on the walls. Hundreds of them in fact.

     As she continued to head forward the number of pictures just kept increasing. Eventually reaching the point in which they were covering the entire floor. She trekked on forward until she finally arrived at the two double doors, which suddenly felt remarkably grandiose for some reason. As if its essence felt bigger than reality.

     She placed her hands on the handle and pushed onwards. Stepping through the doors in hopes that it would be the end to her suffering. And as she passed through and the door slammed shut behind her, she simply placed one foot beside the other and stood still. Walking forward was useless… as was everything she had done up until now. She glanced up at the sign hanging in front of the classroom doorway.

The numbers 6-2 were as clear as day.

     It made absolutely no sense. She ran down two flights of stairs. She knew that for sure. Yet here she was. Another room with the same number? Possibly, but that chandelier anxiously swaying back and forth urged her to reconsider that possibility.

     She walked up to the doorway and looked inside. It all seemed the same… But How? She quietly asked herself. Before she observed any further, caught beneath her feet was another polaroid. She picked it up and took a close look at it. The same as the rest; a student sitting at a school desk. Except for one specific detail. This time the face was perfectly visible… and the face was hers.

     Unexpectedly a warm sensation pierced through her neck. The unforeseen acute pain made her bite down into her tongue so hard she nearly bit straight through it. Then, gruesomely, the vigor of something ripping back through her throat as it forced its way back out, yanked all of her strength from her body.

     She collapsed to the ground as her legs turned into feathers. She laid across the floor dying… blood bucketing from her neck. A shadow casted over her as the light seeping from the classroom traced out the contour of a figure standing above her. Gripping a jagged object firmly in its hand.

     She could see herself in the figure’s face. Distraught, visibly insane, panting, and covered in blood. Another one of her reflections.

     Then, she watched as her reflection slowly began to cry before the blood loss took her last breath.