As Silas glared into space ahead of him, he tried to filter out how Nancy Simmons was going on about an image of her prom dress. Nancy was displaying it on her phone to whoever it was that was next to her, and Silas tried but he could not make her voice disappear and then, all too easily, an image formed in his head where he was biting her fingers off one by one and eating them like chicken wings to get her to just shut the fuck up about the stitching and the colour and how it was totally going to make Stacey Swansson jealous.<br/><br/>Silas exhaled slowly and thought about killing himself. It would not last, but, at least, the remains of the day would be gone by the time he returned to the waking world. As always, no evidence of a kind and just divine creator appeared in the form of a bullet to the face. Slowly and stiffly, Silas got up, grabbed the back of his chair, and dragged it along beside him as he walked to Nicolette's desk. He ambled along to her desk, parked his chair, and sat down. The living dead boy looked at Nicolette with a grave expression. "She's a monster, Nicocoa," Silas said in a dull whisper, leaning forward, drawing out the 's' in monster, "save us from her."