Unlike the first six rooms, the theme of the seventh one was worrisome, rather than just unsettling.
All of the walls were a very light green color, with what seemed to be whiteboards hanging up on them. The flooring was just tiles in alternating colors of green and white. Annette could also smell antiseptic rather strongly about her.
“I don’t know how to take this,” she said to the next juror, “since I barely knew you in my world, but…”
Marc’s remaining arm dangled limply in front of him, like a wet noodle. His eyes were shut tight, as if glued that way. His entire body looked as though it wanted to escape the chair it was in.
Trying to set aside her indifference, Annette stepped in front of him. She reached out her hand towards his arm, and remained stoic when he reached up and took it.
“You know the best way to help, I hope?” She didn’t answer him before falling into the first memory.
Annette’s entrance into the scene was a gentle one. Instead of a harsh landing, she fell softly to the ground like a feather.
“Well, that was… rather unexpected,” she muttered as she began walking. Her working gait, however, was interrupted by a whistle blowing. A bunch of grade children then went running past her.
“Huh?!” Turning to look behind her, Annette caught sight of a playground, with almost every sort of equipment known to man. The swings were still wobbling from their now vacated users.
Just looking at the evacuated playground now was creepy. Annette turned the other way again and ran to the nearby schoolhouse.
Already, the children that were outside had taken their seats. One of them was handing out juice and milk cartons. He looked relatively upset about something.
“Now then, class,” a middle-aged teacher said at the front of the room, “as soon as Mister ‘Brandt’ is done handing out your beverages, you may quietly read or do what you wish until everyone has finished.”
Annette really had no idea why the teacher put air quotes up when he said ‘Brandt’. It were almost as though he were implying it weren’t his real name.
The boy holding the milk crate tried not to let the teacher’s words affect him. He just kept handing out the cartons with an expressionless look on his face.
Once the crate was finally empty, he began to carry it back to where he got it. This was apparently the best time for one of his classmates to trip him.
Before she could even utter a yelp of worry, Annette watched as the poor boy fell to the ground. Then came the cruel laughter of the other children.
“This is no time for messing around, Mister Brandt,” the teacher said to him. “Get up and put the crate back properly. You know, you wouldn’t have to do this every day if your mother bothered to give you milk money.”
The boy just scowled when his face was turned away from the teacher. When he got to the spot that the crate usually sat, the other students were still giggling like morons.
How Annette wished she could help him right now. Especially when he suddenly fell back to the floor and began seizing.
“Oh, shit…” Was all she could whisper as the teacher and students now watched in horror.
But she didn’t get to see the aftermath of his seizure, for the scene was already transitioning into the next one.