The halls are long and brightly lit. Children sit dead-eyed in class, staring blankly ahead. Teachers stalk along the front of the rooms, hissing and spitting facts. No one wants to be here, not you, not me, not them. But we haven't tried to leave.
There's an old tale about the west wing, so many people died there. They sent some kids to get supplies, their gaunt faces turned pale and their hands began violently shaking. One boy threw up, he wasn't made to go. As he was led to the nurse's office I saw the dark, envious glint in the others' eyes. Without meaning I rose to my feet and announced I would go in the boys place. Student and teacher alike stared at me in horror. They tried to convince me not to go, but the more they protested the more vehement I was.
We made our way slowly down the clean, clean hall, with me leading the small gaggle. The lights violently yellow. The floor a scrubbed clean green. We finally reached the west hall door and a cold shiver of fear raked down my spine even as my hand reached and pushed open the double doors…..
That was years ago now, I'm much smarter than before. I was not meant to go with that group. I wasn't in need of re-education.
I remember so much of that school. The teachers going slowly mad, at the clock's ceaseless ticking. How many decades did we remain there? I lost count so long ago.
Oh, the memories of those bleached clean walls (though you could still see the faint rust red) and scrubbed floors. Those long, yellow lights, staying bright and strong until you found yourself alone. Then they'd play tricks, mean, nasty tricks.
I remember once, I escaped the classroom, hallpass clutched tightly in my hand. I was on a quest to get to the bathroom, but I didn't know for certain I'd make there alive. As soon as I was away from my classroom those lights creaked and chuckled. They slowly began to fade until one by one, for as far as I could see they began to shut off, the hall growing darker and closer. I froze in my spot, then ran, scrambling to get into the bathroom before the darkness reached me. And I did, barely.
As I said, I was younger than, naive and rather clueless, I didn't even realise that what I should have been afraid was not the darkness but what was in it. That thing that had prompted me to make the trip on my own to begin with, that thing that turned off the lights slowly, toying with me.
