Our class was normal. We had both popular and unpopular girls. We had a class rep who always insisted that everybody follow the rules and who we called bitch. We even had bullies and a girl who always got bullied. We had studious girls, too. And then there was me.
Altogether, we were a high school class you could find anywhere.
Then one day, the girl who got bullied disappeared. By “disappear,” I don’t mean being gone. No, she was still here, except no one could see her anymore. And soon, those who had bullied her also turned hollow, as if their existence had lost meaning now that they had no one to pick on.
Scientists named it the “Invisibility Syndrome.”
They quarantined us at school to prevent the spread of the infection, as well as to study us up close. Unable to go home, some of us started crying one night, and soon, all of us chimed in. Then, as morning came, exhausted from crying, we began to accept our situation.
One by one, we turned invisible.
Girls who never stood out were the first to go. The studious girls went right after the exam season finished. Popular girls were the second to last to vanish. Our class rep maintained orders until she could not anymore. And she, too, disappeared.
I was the only one left.
But it came for me eventually. One evening, my skin started to fade. Then, I could see no more of what used to be me. “Anybody there?” I called out. “Please, somebody.”
Before my eyes lay an empty classroom.
“Please, I am scared!
“I am here.” A voice came, then another. And someone took my hand. “We are with you.”
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