Jin Schofield (9) – STAFF REPORTER
It’s a mild, overcast Monday, and it’s apparent this year that October is not coming to its typical victorious end. The trees that line the cracked-cement road I stroll along are not mid-eruption in a mane of fiery colours as they used to be this time of year. Rather, they are bare, their brittle branches at the mercy of the howling wind. Even the streets seem more empty than they should be – what should be bustling rush-hour traffic is a single car, its noisy engine groaning as it pushes along the vehicle’s crumbling chassis. I finally reach my bus stop – a lonely glass shelter, casting translucent shadows on the yellowing grass. Funny, I don’t remember any shadows being particularly noticeable on Friday.
What is wrong today?
I am alone today on my way to school, and as the bus pulls in, I see that I will be for a while. No one is on the bus this morning, other than its driver. As I slide my card against the bus’ sensor, the driver gives me an empty look. Her cheeks are hollow and her skin is greying more and more by the second – she looks like she could be dying… or dead. She nods her head in the direction of the back of the bus, and I take a seat. As the streets begin to move backward in my view, and the bus begins rolling along, I see storm clouds in the distance, silent storm clouds striking the rest of today’s dark and gloomy landscape.
Indeed, it is a very strange day today. Is it just me?
It is not long before I have arrived at school. The fog is so heavy today that I cannot even see the entire building. St. Robert’s shadows are especially pronounced. It’s quite ominous – if I were in a horror movie, I would probably be living my last hour (luckily, I am not, of course). As I look for my friends among the heavy crowd of students, the hallways seem narrower than I remember. The sound of people’s voices is so loud, it is overwhelming. I can hardly hear myself think.
Is no one else hearing it? Can no one else tell everything is different today?
I call out for my friends – their lockers should be in this area. Yet, my friends are nowhere to be seen or heard. The crowd is getting thicker and thicker, and the walls around me seem to be growing closer and closer together, like an anaconda constricting around my body. The air is becoming heavier, it is becoming difficult to breathe – and I can hardly see the ceiling with so many older students scrambling around me. The tiny bit of my surroundings I can still see flickers, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, mocking me as it fades away.
It is just me. It’s only me.
I hear it. The warning bell, shrieking across the school. As I expect the crowd to thin out, spreading out in every direction, I instead see it move unanimously, roaring forward. I am like a paper bag in the wind, helpless to the woes of the crowd. Something has grabbed my ankle, and I am pinned to the ground.
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I scream and shout and shriek and wail. Yet no one hears a thing. The crowd is so close to trampling me. In this pitch darkness, I feel so hopeless. I finally wrestle my foot away and begin crawling along the hallway. Every inch is a struggle, every foot a marathon. It’s as if the walls are closing in on me, yet still growing farther and farther away. I am just about to give up when I feel the cold concrete wall. I wrestle my way up and see light beyond the darkness of everyone around me.
That’s when I spot my friends, smiling, laughing, giggling amongst themselves. I cry for them, I cry for them so loudly. Yet they neither see nor hear me. I feel helpless watching them disappear around the corner. I follow the wall until I reach my classroom.
Every single student is at their desk, backs straight as if they were puppets on strings. I can see the bolts holding them together. The fading paint that makes up their empty smiles is an unnatural shade of red. It’s hard to see, but there truly are strings holding their backs straight, their smiles together, and their hands moving. It’s almost as if I can make out figures holding up each student in the ceiling. They all turn to look at me. I am frozen. They’re rising from their chairs, necks unnaturally twisted in my direction, grins widening, and they’re almost up from their chairs-
That is when the teacher walks in. The morning bell must have gone off a long time ago. The morning announcements disappear in a blur and all I can think about is the stack of papers in his hand. Suddenly, I can no longer look anywhere else from that stack of papers. It’s involuntary and I cannot move my eyes. And I am screaming and screaming and screaming… suddenly, the stack of papers is being distributed.
Don’t call my name. Don’t call my name. Don’t call my name.
I hear my name. It is my turn. I am so light-headed that I can hardly rise from my chair. My legs are jelly, my shoulders are drooping, and it is so difficult to not fall over as I reach for my paper.
I extend my arm for my paper, my heart rams against my ribs, I hold my breath…
Thank Gosh, an A. Not too shabby. The trees grow their leaves back. The streets are filled with cars and the sounds of honking. The parking lot is once again unnavigable. The hallways empty out. The students are no longer puppets. The walls brighten up. And those darn lights stop flickering.
Phew.
