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墨書 Inktalez
The air conditioning in the office of the Dean of Students emitted an annoying hum as I stared at the stack of anonymous complaint letters on the desk, my fingertips digging deeply into my palm. Xiao Ya suddenly tugged at my sleeve, her wrist still bearing the bruise from being shoved last week.
"They moved to the abandoned equipment room behind the Experimental Building," she whispered close to my ear, her warm breath carrying the scent of mint candy. The tracking skills we learned three months ago in the time loop came in handy; those memories reset twenty-seven times felt like a map etched into my bones.
As I bent down to tie my shoelaces, I caught a glimpse of Zhang Hao's limited edition sneakers flashing around the corner. Those shoes had once been stained with my blood during the third loop, but now they gleamed brightly. We followed him through a maze of turns, the musty smell of old gym mats mingling with rust wafting towards us.
"This time, we need to clearly record the pushing action." Xiao Ya clipped a miniature camera to my collar, her cool fingers brushing against my neck. Her eyelashes fluttered in the dim light like some nocturnal creature ready to take flight. Three months ago, when we first discovered this hideout, she had trembled so much that she could barely hold her phone.
The moment I pushed open the door, the sight of Chen Min surrounded by three girls in front of the Storage Locker seared into my retina. Li Ting was using a utility knife to pry open the second button of her school uniform; the cold glint of the blade reminded me of the glass shard I had used to cut my wrist during the 101st suicide in the loop.
"Article thirty-two of the school regulations," I heard my voice come out icy as I raised my phone, its screen glaring brightly, "Do you need me to help you review the anti-bullying policies?"
They scattered faster than I had anticipated. Li Ting's motion to hide the utility knife in her sleeve was terrifyingly smooth; this detail had never appeared in previous loops. As Xiao Ya helped Chen Min up, I noticed a dark red burn on her nape shaped like a twisted rose.
That night, when my mother brought me ginger tea, I was comparing patterns of bullying behavior across thirty-seven loops on my computer. The steam fogged up her glasses. "Your homeroom teacher said..." she paused just like she did during the fifty-second loop, "next month's parent-teacher meeting will honor active anti-bullying advocates."
My father was on the balcony repairing my old bicycle when suddenly, the sound of his wrench striking metal stopped. His oil-stained hand rested on my shoulder. "The Dean of Students spoke to me today about sponsorship fees." The coldness of metal seeped through my shirt. "But the bike shop sold three more road bikes this month."
The Firefly Society we formed welcomed its seventeenth member that Friday evening. Zhou Yu huddled in a corner of the activity room with his math workbook; the faint marks around his neck peeking out from under his T-shirt reminded me of myself drowning in a swimming pool during the nineteenth loop. Xiao Ya poured homemade chili sauce into perfume bottles, fluorescent lights casting cold silver edges on her hair.
"Fire drill next Wednesday." I spread out a floor plan of escape routes and heavily circled a Fire Hydrant with my pencil. "Zhang Hao and his friends are used to smoking in the stairwell on the top floor."
When sirens suddenly ripped through the night sky, we were comparing handwriting from thirty anonymous letters. My mother rushed in and snatched away my analysis report; as papers scattered around us, I saw my father's hand shaking as he held up his phone. The live broadcast showed searchlights sweeping over our school’s walls, blinding me as I struggled to keep my eyes open.
"That's Chen Min's mother." Xiao Ya's voice came through the phone, mixed with a noisy background. "She barged into the Principal's Office with a burn diagnosis."
The microphone of the director screeched painfully during the morning meeting, and I stared at the faint glimmer of his watch peeking from his suit sleeve. When the names of me and Xiao Ya were called on the recognition list, a loud crash from the back row startled everyone as a chair toppled over. The moment Zhang Hao kicked open the auditorium's back door, I noticed fresh grass clippings on his sneakers—leftover from last night’s blind spot on the playground surveillance.
As my mother plastered clippings all over my desk, my father was stuffing crumpled bills into the "Firefly Society" donation box. The sunset streamed through the window, stretching his shadow long like an old locust tree suddenly spreading its branches. Outside, Xiao Ya gestured with excitement about her latest design for the Alarm Bracelet, its metallic clasp glinting on her wrist like a measure of time flowing backward.
We finally cornered Li Ting on the rooftop of the Experimental Building, where the cigarette butt in her hand burned through a Chemical Exam Paper. I caught a familiar burnt smell, strikingly similar to that of self-immolation during the 216th cycle. "Who are you to control me?" she exhaled, smoke rings shattering against the safety net. "You don’t understand at all..."
Suddenly, Xiao Ya rolled up her sleeve, revealing a mass of scars glistening like mother-of-pearl under the moonlight. This body, repeatedly self-harming in the cycle, had now become its sharpest weapon. Li Ting's Cigarette Butt fell from her fingers, letting out a soft whimper as it hit the puddle.
On the day of the Final Award Ceremony, fine snow fell as Chen Min slipped a mint candy into my hand. The banner above the podium flapped loudly in the wind, and I heard Zhang Hao kick over a trash can at the end of the line. When the principal announced that incidents of Bullying Incident had decreased by 67%, Xiao Ya secretly drew an infinity symbol in my palm.
As we dispersed, I found an Anonymous Letter lying in the Storage Locker, its handwriting suspiciously neat. Holding it up to the sunlight, I could see my mother waiting at the end of the corridor. She clutched a receipt for sponsorship fees that had been returned, ink seeping from its creases like a winding river.
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