Clang Through Time (Chapter 3)

My racing thoughts are starting to subside, the world is quieting down and my ears become attuned to listening for staff. I don’t know what they will do to me if I were to be caught, but I imagine it would be pretty bad. I wonder if I would end up in a court room being judged by my supposed peers, but of course none of them will be a thirteen year old kid. Peers by species, not by perception. Surely they would not throw me in jail, that would be a bit harsh, but they’d have to do something or all of my real peers would add this to their graduation bucket list. Anarchy, to be sure, but rebelling against faculty is like rebelling against Colonel Klink, sitcom and all. Maybe I should read about Geneva before I leave the library.

I walk confidently up to the double doors through which I first entered the library and stop, hugging the wall to the left of the set of doors. I listen for a moment, adjusting my head in various directions to continuously reaffirm the silence, and thus the safety. I look through the window slits to the left and right as far as I can and only see darkness, a few highlighted silhouettes protrude from the darkness throughout the the depth, but I see no movement from this vantage. It’s time to begin the real adventure.

I decide to continue the way I came, away from the various miscellaneous rooms and towards the familiar classrooms. The classrooms of my grade are over half of the school away, I’ll pass through the rest of the Senior High school, down a small corridor that was once the end of the institution, but is now a gateway to a younger institution. Those of us who’ve not yet attained such social prominence as to achieve higher education levels are confined to the lesser of the two halves of this school complex. The Junior High is now my destination. I worry that I will encounter enemy along the route, but part of me also worries that I will not, depriving me of a higher allotment of exaggeration when the story is retold between our busy schedules.

I slowly part the doors and hold them tightly as they slowly close. As the minimal mechanical noises of the door subside, they begin to echo louder and louder in my mind, causing me a slight moment of panic worrying of detection. I calm myself and peer around the concrete alcove in which the doors are set. The path in both directions seems clear, so I move out to the right. In the distance I see a figure walk across my path in the far distance; my breath, my movement, indeed by heart stop instantly. I’ve apparently not been spotted, as such, I continue to walk slowly, holding my breath for long periods of times. I spot a restroom a few steps ahead and slowly creep toward it. My footsteps sound like cannon fire in this eerily dead silence.

I quickly swing into the restroom and walk to the farthest stall. I sit for a moment on the toilet and catch my breath. My eardrums feel like they are going to rupture behind my heartbeat. The door of the stall! I let it swing on it’s own!

*clang*

I’m caught for sure now! It’s just a matter of time before the lights will fly on and I will be completely shed of all protection and from all avenues of escape. Moments pass, hours, days, who can be sure at a time like this. My instincts, more keenly aware of such things, assure me that enough time has passed for the foe to have arrived. A free pass, this is, I will learn, but I must be more careful of myself than I anticipated.

I walk slowly out of the stall and into the cold and sterile, as the scent would have me believe, restroom. Dim light comes in through the intentionally blurred windows and I can see some resemblance of a restroom I remember from the normal life. I stand for a moment, resting my hands on the sink in front of me and peering directly into the cracked mirror in front of me. I can just barely see myself in the mirror, a silhouette of myself analogous to this world vs the normal world.

I walk towards the maze-like exit of the restroom, listening for danger as I move. I reach the door, peer around the corners, and continue left down the carpeted hallway. I creep along, my stride getting wider and wider as my confidence begins to grow. I reach a corridor that juts off to the left. I look around the corner and up the staircase that switches directions halfway up to the second floor. I decide to go up the stairs. I reach the landing of the stairs and turn to walk up the second half, I hunch closer and closer to the ground, trying to keep my head level with the top of the stairs. I need to look up just enough to spot danger while minimizing my chance for detection, I assume. All of the fear is now simply part of a melody in my soul that is encouraging me to continue on no matter the cost.

I reach the top of the steps and glance up and down the hallway. I see less light to the left, so to the left I shall go. These rooms are the various science facilities our institution has to offer. Not much beyond the standard junior high science kit, but standard elements in this new world could prove to be incredibly useful, in ways they were probably never intended. In this world, looking at slides of algae with a microscope is a bit trite, when said microscope could be used as a defensive device used to protect the hand while blocking an incoming attack. All possibilities must be considered when the circumstances extenuate themselves to silent chaos.

I look in each room as I pass, noticing the same emptiness in each classroom, no doubt a metaphor for the planned futures of those so willing to give themselves to this institution without so much as a rebellious wink. I see a flash of light come from one of the rooms ahead. I make my way closer and see another flash of light. There must be a television left to bore an empty classroom, perhaps it’s found its purpose. I walk up to the door on the left side of the hall way and carefully move my eye towards the glass. As soon as the bright yellow wood gives way to the transparent glass, I see a teacher stand up from his desk and walk into the supply closet in the far corner of the room. I look down at the desk and see the source of the light: a blue Bic lighter.


Clang Through Time (Chapter 2)

My swing comes to rest far before my senses return to the natural world. I sit for a moment and wonder where I’ve been and why it leaves me feeling so hollow, yet sugary around the edges. It feels like the comfort of being sick when you’re young and all you’re to do is keep


Clang Through Time (Chapter 1)

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