Today marked the second day of Madeleine’s project, and it was a special one. Jiwon was coming to help with the art installation for Madeleine’s project. After some persuasion, she agreed to assist with the painting. Madeleine finally relented, saying that if we each created a piece of art, she would consider including one of them in her installation.

But then, in an instant, the scene shifted dramatically. The classroom transformed into the vibrant space of Lycée International Xavier, where my classmates and I sat down with tablets in front of us. Excitement surged through me as we began creating our masterpieces. I decided to draw spicy chicken, a favorite of mine. During break, I proudly asked my classmates if they wanted to see my work, and they encouraged me.

But when I returned, my heart sank. My artwork had vanished, replaced by a playful drawing done by someone else. Anger boiled within me; I was furious and genuinely frustrated. I frantically searched through the layers on my tablet, trying to locate my lost piece, but it was gone.

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted, and I felt as if I was part of a dramatic scene unfolding around me. The setting morphed into a chaotic mix of a hospital, a Korean school, and a kindergarten. People around me began to vomit and bleed, their faces twisting into grotesque masks as they transformed into zombies. The tension in the air was palpable, and I could hear the distant, frantic screams of those who had turned.

The zombies—horrifyingly, they were all women—staggered through the hallways, their eyes glassy and unfocused. As they caught sight of men, a chilling transformation occurred; they would suddenly lose themselves to an insatiable hunger. The narration echoed ominously in my mind: “These zombies are only female. When they are with other women, they appear completely normal, but upon seeing a man, they lose all control and become predatory.”

At that moment, the playground of Lycée International Xavier came into view. Children began to change before my eyes, their laughter turning into shrieks as they morphed into the very zombies I had seen earlier. I could see the horror in the faces of the nuns who rushed towards the children, asking why they were behaving that way, desperately trying to help. But the transformed children showed no signs of aggression toward the nuns, which struck me as odd. It was as if there was an unspoken rule protecting the women in the group.

Realizing the danger we were in, I quickly gathered my friends and suggested, “We need to get these zombies—just the women—out of here and into the woods where they can’t hurt anyone.” The urgency in my voice caught their attention. We needed a plan, a safe haven from the chaos. However, to my surprise, Woo-jin and a couple of boys from our class insisted on coming along, sneaking behind us with mischievous grins. They were determined to prove their bravery, despite the grim circumstances.

As we moved through the rain-soaked streets, a thought struck me: music seemed to keep the zombies at bay. Whenever a tune played, they appeared calm and normal. I recalled something about the relationship between sound and the monsters; it made me wonder if holding something connected to the music, like a talisman, would also help.

The rain poured heavily, drenching us as we hurried along. I shared an umbrella with Tara and Rachael, urging everyone, “Keep your heads down and don’t look at the boys. We can’t afford to draw the attention of those zombies.” But I couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom. “Even if we try to avoid them,” I explained, my heart racing, “the zombies will eventually break free of their constraints. It’s as if something within them compels them to look for men, no matter how hard they fight it. Their heads keep turning as if drawn by an invisible force.”

As we ran, I glanced back at the chaos we were leaving behind. The playground was overrun with shrieking children, their voices blending with the echoes of fear. It was surreal—a nightmare I had never wanted to be a part of. But we had to push forward, deeper into the woods, to find a place of refuge. The shadows of the trees loomed ominously, but they felt safer than the horrors we had just escaped.

The scene shifted again, and I found myself with Michelle. We were tasked with creating illustrations for a web page, but nothing seemed to be working. Suddenly, Madeleine asked us to draw whatever we wanted. I poured my heart into my artwork, capturing something beautiful on my tablet. As Madeleine assessed our work one by one, I felt a rush of anticipation. My drawing resembled the style of a YouTuber named Roselia, a name that had slipped from my memory. I turned to Michelle, asking if she knew the artist, but she shrugged, “I don’t watch that YouTuber. I’m just a bit of an otaku.” Her response, in her unique tone, made me smile.

Just then, Youna, Rachael, and Tara joined us. Rachael mentioned that the Daiso near her house was having a huge sale, which I had coincidentally seen on Twitter and shared with Tara. We were all on a call, animatedly discussing our plans. I found myself next to Tara, who was working on a spinning wheel for yarn. Youna, noticing how close we were, teased us, implying we seemed friendly. We exchanged glances, giggling, as the conversation flowed easily between us.

As the day went on, I reflected on the whirlwind of emotions—frustration, excitement, and camaraderie. Despite the challenges and the bizarre turns of events, I felt a deep connection with my friends and a rekindled passion for art. Perhaps, in the chaos, creativity would find a way to emerge.