The Student Room Group

I am not going to school after this

During a particularly dull afternoon lecture, you started to doodle on the edge of your notebook. Out of boredom, you sketched an old, twisted tree with a single hollow eye at its center. As you filled in the details, a shiver ran down your spine.

When you glanced up, the classroom had changed. The walls had turned to bark, the ceiling stretched into gnarled branches, and the floor was carpeted with decaying leaves. Your classmates had vanished, but their whispered voices echoed from the shadows.

Drawn to the singular hollow eye from your sketch, now looming large on the class wall, you approached cautiously. Whispered voices grew louder, urging you to "return what was taken."

Panicking, you tried to erase the tree from your notebook. As you did, the room began reverting to its original state, but the tree's eye stared angrily, promising revenge.

Waking with a start, you realized it had all been a dream, a side effect of nodding off in class. But the doodle on your notebook was real, and every so often, you could swear you heard whispered voices, reminding you of the classroom tree's unfulfilled promise.

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