Rachel Yan (11) | STAFF REPORTER
I close my textbook and stand up. Discreetly grab the edge of the desk as I nearly lose my balance.
Looking down at my desk, the papers seem to swim before my eyes. I swallow hard and almost choke. My throat is too dry. I walk to the classroom door.
Outside, the halls are completely empty. I stumble along beside the wall, breathing hard. Accidentally fall against a locker with a loud crash.
For the last two days, I haven’t been able to eat anything. Food seemed to evaporate the moment I swallowed it. I ate while my hunger grew, unsatisfied. The last thing I had genuinely eaten was some soup from the cafeteria three days ago.
I walk through the halls mindlessly, consumed by hunger. After a minute, I find myself at the doors of the cafeteria. I push through them, finding the inside empty of students. Even the lunch ladies aren’t there.
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There are trays of pizza, pasta, cookies, and salad. But I only have eyes for the pot of soup in the middle. It has a warm orange colour, and seems to glow with a delectable golden sheen. I lean forward in hunger and longing.
I grab a bowl and ladle copious amounts of soup into it. I drink it in a rush, ignoring the uncomfortable heat. For the first time in days, I can feel the food entering and resting in my stomach.
I hear a clatter inside the kitchens, and one of the lunch ladies comes out. I recognize her as the one who had served me the soup three days ago. She looks at me in surprise.
I stand there, incredulous. “Wait!” I shout. “What did you do to the soup?”
She turns to run. “Stop!” I demand, following her. “What did you put in the soup?”
