If one had given Empty City High’s art room only a cursory examination, one could be forgiven for missing the young girl amidst the mess of materials. Sketchpads were layered across the floor, pencils were scattered randomly across the room, pieces of chalk huddled together in little groupings on the floor, and open cans of paint were stacked into towers rising precariously high.
Amongst this sat the Ivory Woman, carefully moving her paint brush across a canvas. Her pale skin and hair made her seem almost ghostlike, an impression which was only strengthened by her white clothing. The intensity of her concentration on her painting was so strong, she didn’t even notice when another girl entered the room.
“Um, excuse me….”
The Ivory Woman made a yelp of surprise and jumped, accidentally knocking over one of the towers of paint, causing an open bucket to land on the head of the newcomer, spilling red paint all over her.
“Ohmygosh I’m so sorry!” Ivory said, and started to walk over to help. But her foot landed on a pencil, which rolled away underneath it. She tried catching her balance with the other foot, but the sketchpads on the ground were hardly a stable floor, and she fell, landing in a cloud of chalk dust. Her canvas teetered precariously for a few moments, and then fell, knocking over another tower of paint.
“Are… are you okay?” The new girl said.
Ivory didn’t seem to notice the question. She sat up, and coughed a few clouds of chalk, and then scrambled over to her canvas. The spilt paint had spread all over it, completely destroying the image. “Oh no, not again….” Ivory said, her eyes starting to get wet.
“I’m… um… sorry about your picture….” The girl said, still taken aback by the sudden chaos.
“No, it’s… it’s alright.” Ivory said as she used her sleeve to wipe away her tears, smudging more chalk on her face. “I’ll just… start over. Again.” She stood up, and put on a smile. “I’m the Ivory Woman. How can I help you?”
“I’m the Wooden Girl. Mr. Steward sent me here to talk to the art teacher…?”
“Oh. Um….” Ivory thought for a second. “I don’t think we have one of those.”
“You don’t have a….” Wooden looked around the messy room. “Where’s the rest of the art class anyways?”
“It’s just me.”
“You’re… the only student in art?”
“Yes.”
“And there’s no teacher?”
“Yup.”
“So… you just come here and draw by yourself for a whole period?”
“Yes!” Ivory nodded enthusiastically.
“….Okay…. Then I guess I should give this to you.” Wooden pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket, and handed it to Ivory. “We’re trying to get people to join our performance of ‘The King in Yellow’ so we can participate in a theater competition, and we wanted to know if someone in the art department could make posters like this to advertise for us.”
Ivory looked over the sketch. “Yeah, I can make something like this. I just… um….” She looked at the mess around her. “I just need to clean up a little bit first….”
“Thanks! Let me know when it’s finished. I need to go and recruits volunteers.” Wooden started to walk to the door, but stopped when a thought struck her. “And, um… good luck. Try not to hurt yourself.”
***
“…so then I tried to make a will roll to resist, but I got a one, which meant….”
“Intrusion, have I ever told you that your games are the dumbest thing ever?”
“Ah, come on Dying, they’re cool. You know you want to give them a try.”
A part of Dying admitted to himself that he did. But that was a part which he would never allow to be spoken out loud.
A hand suddenly grabbed Dying by the shoulder. He started to shout, “Get off,” at whoever was accosting him, but when he looked at who the hand belonged to, he saw a painted face with glaring eyes. Only a moment of trying to look back into the intense fire of that glare, and he found himself having to fight the urge to grovel.
“Neither of you are in any electives, right?” The girl who’d grabbed him said.
“No….” Dying just managed to stop himself before he added “ma’am.”
“Good. You’re joining theater.”
“But….”
“We’re meeting after school today in Mr. Stewards room. Be there.” Then she walked off.
Intrusion leaned toward Dying. “What just happened?”
“I… don’t know.”
***
Wooden laid out the poster on the cafeteria table. “This is the first draft that Ivory made. If Mr. Steward likes it, we’re going to print more out and start putting them up around the school.”
Salmacis looked over the poster. It looked nice, although she didn’t think she was qualified to make critical judgments about art.
“So will you ask your sisters if you can switch out of swim team into theater for this?” Wooden said. “I was really hoping I’d be able to work with you on this….”
Inwardly, Salmacis flinched. She wasn’t looking forward to that conversation with EAT. “I’ll try, but….” Something on the poster caught her eye. “Hey, what’s….” She pointed at the poster.
Wooden looked where Salmacis’s finger was indicating. The specific line read, “Band and choir members needed. Please speak with Mr. Dooling.”
“Oh, that?” Wooden said. “It’s a musical, so we need people to perform the music. Except according to Mr. Dooling, his students are about as bad at music as Steward’s are at theater. So I also need to find volunteers for that too….”
Salmacis was only half paying attention. In her mind, she was reliving her first day of school… getting lost… bumping into someone….
“Are… you okay?” Wooden said. “You look a little red….”
“Yes! Fine!” Salmacis jumped out of her chair. “WherebandcansignupI?”
“… What?”
“Where I… band… signing….” Salmacis took a deep breath. “Where. Do I. Sign up for band?”
“Um… Mr. Dooling’s room. Which is… I think it’s on the 2nd floor today. East wing.”
Salmacis was already packing up her things before Wooden had even finished speaking. “Weren’t you going to talk to your sisters first?” Wooden said.
“Easiertoaskforgivenessthanpermission!” Salmacis shouted as she sprinted out of the cafeteria.
***
It was a lonely walk from the cafeteria to the library for the Cold Boy. He wondered about that sometimes. There should have been enough students in the school to cram the hallways, but Cold almost always found himself making these walks alone.
“Hey! You!”
Cold kept walking. It was probably just someone trying to get their friend’s attention.
“You! Sad looking kid walking away from me!”
Maybe they actually were talking to him… no, not possible. No one talked to him.
Cold felt someone grab him from behind, and spin him around. “Listen to me when I talk to you!”
The girl who’d been shouting was dressed in all black, and had far more makeup on than was really necessary. She also happened to be glaring at Cold with a burning anger he had never seen before, but he didn’t notice that much. He was too shocked that someone was actually looking at him for once.
“What’s your name?” She said.
“I’m the Cold Boy….”
“Right. I’m…”
“The Wooden Girl. We have math together.”
She seemed taken aback, and the anger left her eyes. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t recognize you.”
“… and history…”
“Oh. Erm.”
“… and English…”
“Um….”
“… and biology….”
“Okay, okay, I get it! Geeze, I said I was sorry!” The anger was back now. “You’re not in any electives, right?”
“No….”
“Good. You’re signing up for theater. We’re meeting after school today in Mr. Steward’s room. You will be there.”
“O-okay….”
With that confirmed, Wooden let go of Cold and marched off to find more volunteers.
Well. That was weird, Cold thought to himself.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Friday, April 26, 2013
Parent Meeting
>”Hello again, Cold.”
>”Hi Maxwell. How’ve you been?”
>”I have read every book in the school library.”
>”What? All of them?”
>”Yes.”
>”Come on, that’s not possible.”
>”Oh. It isn’t?”
>”No. I’ve only been able to read one book since we talked.”
>”Yes, one, that’s how many I’ve read.”
>”You need to come up with something more believable if you’re going to trick me. What did you read?”
>”The Haunter of the Dark.”
>”How was that?”
>”It breaks from several of the author’s usual conventions, to the greater benefit of the story. Although at points the narrative direction becomes unorganized, the end product is good, and recommendable.”
>”I’ll have to check it out. Thanks for the suggestion.”
***
As per usual, Mr. Steward was behind his desk, letting the students act how they wanted through the period. But this time, the Wooden Girl had something on her mind when she came to class.
“How come you never mentioned our school won a theater competition?” She said after hearing the bell ring.
Mr. Steward put down his book and looked at her quizzically. “We’ve never participated in a theater….” As his voice trailed off, his eyes glazed over. “… Yes… I… remember now. The Annual Amateur Musical Competition. Our production of ‘Shoggoths’ won us first place.” He stared blankly at a spot on the wall, as if trying to remember more, but Wooden cut his train of thought.
“Why don’t we enter the contest again this year?”
“Hm? What?” It took a moment for Steward to focus back on the present, but when he did, he laughed. “With this class? I don’t think most of them are capable of singing.”
“What if I got people who could?”
“Excuse me?”
“What if I found other people to participate in the play?”
Steward thought for a moment. “It would be nice to work with a real cast again. You’d need to pick out a play, but I’ve got some scripts in my office that could be used…. I’ll have to speak with Mr. Dooling for the band and choir’s participation….”
“So we’ll do it?”
“Maybe. See if you can find a cast first. Then I’ll think about it.”
That was good enough for Wooden Now she just had to round up some volunteers….
***
Mr. Omega carefully cleared off his desk in a doomed effort to make it look orderly. Where had all these things come from, anyways….
He heard a knock on his office door, and said, “Come in.” And man and a women entered the room. Both had appearances that were nothing short of stunning. The women had long auburn hair and red eyes, and wore a small red dress that left very little to the imagination. The man had similarly colored eyes, and hair which somehow seemed to billow in a nonexistent wind. Several of his shirts buttons were undone, showing a muscular chest.
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Red Cap.” Omega said while extending his hand in greeting. “Thank you for coming. I wanted to speak with you about your son, Dying Man.”
“Oh please, call me Miss Red Cap.” She ignored the hand and gave Omega a tight hug. “How’s our darling little boy?”
“Well, unfortunately, some issues have risen which may require your attention. Please, take a seat.” He gestured at two chairs in front of his desk. Mr. Red Cap sat in a chair, then Ms. sat in his lap. Omega got behind his desk, and pulled out a manila folder. “Mr. Lowe has expressed to me concerns about your son’s performance in school. I was hoping we could discuss a solution.”
“Oh, surely a few bad grades won’t be too much trouble!” Mr. Red Cap said. “I remember I always had better things to do with my time than study when I was his age!” He tickled Ms.’s side, and she playfully slapped his hand away.
“This is a bit more than a few grades.” Mr. Omega started to say, but the two were already lost in their own conversation.
“Remember our junior year homecoming game?”
“When we snuck under the bleachers?”
“And I brought the length of string?”
“I think I still have my cheerleader outfit packed away!”
“We can pick up a new pair of handcuffs on the way home!”
“And I’ll make the balloon animals!”
***
Dying slouched through the hall toward the counselor’s office. He wasn’t going to complain about getting out of class, but he’d learned pessimism was the best strategy when dealing with school officials.
When he reached the office, he saw his parents making very unusual hand gestures in front of a man listening in horrified fascination. Oh god, they were telling the bowling ball story….
“Dying Man, there you are!” The man said, seizing on the opportunity to escape. “I’m Mr. Omega, the guidance counselor. I wanted to speak with you and your parents.”
“But we haven’t gotten to the best part of the story!” Mr. Red Cap said.
“That’s… that’s alright. I don’t think it would be appropriate to tell with your child here….”
“Oh, that’s alright, he already knows it. We had him film it for us.”
“Even so, we still have some other matters to discuss!” Omega quickly said. “Now, one of Mr. Lowe’s suggestions was more parental involvement in your son’s school. He thinks that if you show more investment in his education, it will cause your son himself to become more invested.”
Dying tried shouting “No!” as fast as he could, but his dad spoke first. “That sounds like a wonderful idea!”
“I’m glad you think so. Here’s a list of volunteer opportunities we have for parents. I hope you find something interesting to you on it. ThankyouforyourtimeIhopetospeakwithyouagainsoon.” He quickly rushed Dying and the Red Cap out of his office, then closed the door.
Phew. The job description for guidance counselor had said it was about talking to troubled students and helping them out. So why was it Omega felt like his real job was trying to make sure everyone in this school kept their clothes on?
>”Hi Maxwell. How’ve you been?”
>”I have read every book in the school library.”
>”What? All of them?”
>”Yes.”
>”Come on, that’s not possible.”
>”Oh. It isn’t?”
>”No. I’ve only been able to read one book since we talked.”
>”Yes, one, that’s how many I’ve read.”
>”You need to come up with something more believable if you’re going to trick me. What did you read?”
>”The Haunter of the Dark.”
>”How was that?”
>”It breaks from several of the author’s usual conventions, to the greater benefit of the story. Although at points the narrative direction becomes unorganized, the end product is good, and recommendable.”
>”I’ll have to check it out. Thanks for the suggestion.”
***
As per usual, Mr. Steward was behind his desk, letting the students act how they wanted through the period. But this time, the Wooden Girl had something on her mind when she came to class.
“How come you never mentioned our school won a theater competition?” She said after hearing the bell ring.
Mr. Steward put down his book and looked at her quizzically. “We’ve never participated in a theater….” As his voice trailed off, his eyes glazed over. “… Yes… I… remember now. The Annual Amateur Musical Competition. Our production of ‘Shoggoths’ won us first place.” He stared blankly at a spot on the wall, as if trying to remember more, but Wooden cut his train of thought.
“Why don’t we enter the contest again this year?”
“Hm? What?” It took a moment for Steward to focus back on the present, but when he did, he laughed. “With this class? I don’t think most of them are capable of singing.”
“What if I got people who could?”
“Excuse me?”
“What if I found other people to participate in the play?”
Steward thought for a moment. “It would be nice to work with a real cast again. You’d need to pick out a play, but I’ve got some scripts in my office that could be used…. I’ll have to speak with Mr. Dooling for the band and choir’s participation….”
“So we’ll do it?”
“Maybe. See if you can find a cast first. Then I’ll think about it.”
That was good enough for Wooden Now she just had to round up some volunteers….
***
Mr. Omega carefully cleared off his desk in a doomed effort to make it look orderly. Where had all these things come from, anyways….
He heard a knock on his office door, and said, “Come in.” And man and a women entered the room. Both had appearances that were nothing short of stunning. The women had long auburn hair and red eyes, and wore a small red dress that left very little to the imagination. The man had similarly colored eyes, and hair which somehow seemed to billow in a nonexistent wind. Several of his shirts buttons were undone, showing a muscular chest.
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Red Cap.” Omega said while extending his hand in greeting. “Thank you for coming. I wanted to speak with you about your son, Dying Man.”
“Oh please, call me Miss Red Cap.” She ignored the hand and gave Omega a tight hug. “How’s our darling little boy?”
“Well, unfortunately, some issues have risen which may require your attention. Please, take a seat.” He gestured at two chairs in front of his desk. Mr. Red Cap sat in a chair, then Ms. sat in his lap. Omega got behind his desk, and pulled out a manila folder. “Mr. Lowe has expressed to me concerns about your son’s performance in school. I was hoping we could discuss a solution.”
“Oh, surely a few bad grades won’t be too much trouble!” Mr. Red Cap said. “I remember I always had better things to do with my time than study when I was his age!” He tickled Ms.’s side, and she playfully slapped his hand away.
“This is a bit more than a few grades.” Mr. Omega started to say, but the two were already lost in their own conversation.
“Remember our junior year homecoming game?”
“When we snuck under the bleachers?”
“And I brought the length of string?”
“I think I still have my cheerleader outfit packed away!”
“We can pick up a new pair of handcuffs on the way home!”
“And I’ll make the balloon animals!”
***
Dying slouched through the hall toward the counselor’s office. He wasn’t going to complain about getting out of class, but he’d learned pessimism was the best strategy when dealing with school officials.
When he reached the office, he saw his parents making very unusual hand gestures in front of a man listening in horrified fascination. Oh god, they were telling the bowling ball story….
“Dying Man, there you are!” The man said, seizing on the opportunity to escape. “I’m Mr. Omega, the guidance counselor. I wanted to speak with you and your parents.”
“But we haven’t gotten to the best part of the story!” Mr. Red Cap said.
“That’s… that’s alright. I don’t think it would be appropriate to tell with your child here….”
“Oh, that’s alright, he already knows it. We had him film it for us.”
“Even so, we still have some other matters to discuss!” Omega quickly said. “Now, one of Mr. Lowe’s suggestions was more parental involvement in your son’s school. He thinks that if you show more investment in his education, it will cause your son himself to become more invested.”
Dying tried shouting “No!” as fast as he could, but his dad spoke first. “That sounds like a wonderful idea!”
“I’m glad you think so. Here’s a list of volunteer opportunities we have for parents. I hope you find something interesting to you on it. ThankyouforyourtimeIhopetospeakwithyouagainsoon.” He quickly rushed Dying and the Red Cap out of his office, then closed the door.
Phew. The job description for guidance counselor had said it was about talking to troubled students and helping them out. So why was it Omega felt like his real job was trying to make sure everyone in this school kept their clothes on?
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
>Hi Maxwell
>Hello Cold. It’s been a few days; how have you been?
>I’ve been good. Sorry about not talking. Mr. Lowe had us read “At the Mountains of Madness,” and during lunch I’ve been asking Mr. Sigma to show me other books by that author.
>Do you enjoy reading?
>It’s okay. I like the books Mr. Lowe gives us at least. And we’ve got a few other good books in the library.
>Interesting. I think I will start reading through the library’s archive of books.
>I could recommend some of my favorites, to you, if you want.
>That would be appreciated, thank you.
***
“That will be all for today.” Mr. Lowe said. “Please read through chapter six by our next class, and be ready to answer your reading questions.”
Students rushed out the door, but Mr. Lowe stopped one before he left. “Dying, I need to speak with you.”
The Dying Man sullenly walked to Mr. Lowe’s desk. “What?”
“I wanted to talk to you about the work you’ve been doing. You haven’t turned in half your assignments, and what you have turned in isn’t near as good as I know you can do. If you don’t improve, you’re going to fail this grading period.”
If Lowe had been hoping the threat of failure would trigger a reaction, he was disappointed. Dying shrugged and kept silent.
“I want to help you Dying, but you need to communicate with me. If we can’t come up with a solution to your grades, I’ll be forced to contact your parents.”
“Go ahead. They don’t care about anything I do.”
Ah, Mr. Lowe thought to himself. “If that’s really what you want me to do, I’ll schedule an appointment with Mr. Omega.”
“Fine.” And without another word, Dying shuffled out of the room.
***
Empty High stood locked in a single moment, all its students and staff frozen in place. Principal Jack walked through the motionless crowds, silently observing the activity of his school. Everything was going predictably. Everything was happening within the safe, reasonable boundaries of the school. Not one thing out of the ordinary was occurring.
How terribly boring.
Principal Jack went outside to observe Coach Ferris’s PE class. The coach had his students climbing the school’s rock wall. Idly, Principal Jack snapped his fingers, and the safety rope on a student near the top vanished.
Hm. Still not exciting enough. Perhaps a spike pit beneath the student?
Snap.
A spike pit on fire.
Snap.
A spike pit on fire and filled with flame resistant sharks.
Snap.
Principal Jack grinned at his creation, imagining the chaos which would ensue the moment he let time resume. Of course, Coach Ferris would manage to dive in and save the student before he fell to his death. Principal Jack wasn’t a monster.
The grin quickly faded away. It still wasn’t enough. He needed more than a passing gag. He needed… narrative. Plot. Conflict. DRAMA.
The principal walked back into the school, dwelling on this problem. He wandered the hallways without thought to his direction, until chance took him by the Wooden Girl.
Ah, yes. He was particularly proud of this piece of work. The makeup was a nice touch, he felt. It was so heavily padded on that, in this frozen state, she almost did look like a puppet. The only detail out of place was the eyes: there was far too much fire in them to ever be mistaken for something not alive.
And like that, an idea came to Principal Jack. Yes, here was a story he could use. He raised his gloved right hand, and snapped his fingers.
***
The Wooden Girl stomped down the hallway in boots that could have crushed skulls. She hated going to theater class. She kept telling herself she should stop showing up. Yeah, that’s what she’d do. There were probably tons of better things she could be doing instead of going there. Tomorrow, tomorrow she’d skip it. The day after tomorrow. Next week. One of these days. One of these days, she would stop going to theater class! This she swore!
She was so lost in her internal rage that she didn’t notice the crowd of Nightlanders until she crashed into them. They didn’t seem to notice her collision with their group, and kept moving forward, carrying her along with them. Wooden shouted at them to let her go, and when that did nothing, started kicking and biting the shadows around her. But even that didn’t make them release her, until they had reached a part of the school Wooden had never seen before. The group dropped her, and quickly rushed away.
“Hey!” She shouted after them. “You come back here and apologize RIGHT NOW!” Several students around her felt the sudden urge to beg for forgiveness, though for what they weren’t sure. But those she had been shouting at ignored her.
Well, great. Now how was she supposed to make it to class? She had no idea where in the school she was. Seething with rage, she picked a direction at random and walked in it.
Trophy cases lined either side of the hall. This was certainly new. Wooden hadn’t realized this school had ever won anything. She looked over the trophies and plaques, without really paying attention, until one word caught her eye. “Theater.”
It was a small trophy, but a trophy nonetheless. Next to it was a newspaper article titled, “Empty City High Theater Team Wins Annual Amateur Musical Competition With Production of ‘Shoggoths on a Roof’.” There was a picture with the article, showing Mr. Steward standing in front of several students, holding the trophy. It was the only time Wooden had ever seen the man smiling.
So… the theater class did do things, once. Interesting.
It was only a small thought, at first. But it would grow into something larger.
>Hello Cold. It’s been a few days; how have you been?
>I’ve been good. Sorry about not talking. Mr. Lowe had us read “At the Mountains of Madness,” and during lunch I’ve been asking Mr. Sigma to show me other books by that author.
>Do you enjoy reading?
>It’s okay. I like the books Mr. Lowe gives us at least. And we’ve got a few other good books in the library.
>Interesting. I think I will start reading through the library’s archive of books.
>I could recommend some of my favorites, to you, if you want.
>That would be appreciated, thank you.
***
“That will be all for today.” Mr. Lowe said. “Please read through chapter six by our next class, and be ready to answer your reading questions.”
Students rushed out the door, but Mr. Lowe stopped one before he left. “Dying, I need to speak with you.”
The Dying Man sullenly walked to Mr. Lowe’s desk. “What?”
“I wanted to talk to you about the work you’ve been doing. You haven’t turned in half your assignments, and what you have turned in isn’t near as good as I know you can do. If you don’t improve, you’re going to fail this grading period.”
If Lowe had been hoping the threat of failure would trigger a reaction, he was disappointed. Dying shrugged and kept silent.
“I want to help you Dying, but you need to communicate with me. If we can’t come up with a solution to your grades, I’ll be forced to contact your parents.”
“Go ahead. They don’t care about anything I do.”
Ah, Mr. Lowe thought to himself. “If that’s really what you want me to do, I’ll schedule an appointment with Mr. Omega.”
“Fine.” And without another word, Dying shuffled out of the room.
***
Empty High stood locked in a single moment, all its students and staff frozen in place. Principal Jack walked through the motionless crowds, silently observing the activity of his school. Everything was going predictably. Everything was happening within the safe, reasonable boundaries of the school. Not one thing out of the ordinary was occurring.
How terribly boring.
Principal Jack went outside to observe Coach Ferris’s PE class. The coach had his students climbing the school’s rock wall. Idly, Principal Jack snapped his fingers, and the safety rope on a student near the top vanished.
Hm. Still not exciting enough. Perhaps a spike pit beneath the student?
Snap.
A spike pit on fire.
Snap.
A spike pit on fire and filled with flame resistant sharks.
Snap.
Principal Jack grinned at his creation, imagining the chaos which would ensue the moment he let time resume. Of course, Coach Ferris would manage to dive in and save the student before he fell to his death. Principal Jack wasn’t a monster.
The grin quickly faded away. It still wasn’t enough. He needed more than a passing gag. He needed… narrative. Plot. Conflict. DRAMA.
The principal walked back into the school, dwelling on this problem. He wandered the hallways without thought to his direction, until chance took him by the Wooden Girl.
Ah, yes. He was particularly proud of this piece of work. The makeup was a nice touch, he felt. It was so heavily padded on that, in this frozen state, she almost did look like a puppet. The only detail out of place was the eyes: there was far too much fire in them to ever be mistaken for something not alive.
And like that, an idea came to Principal Jack. Yes, here was a story he could use. He raised his gloved right hand, and snapped his fingers.
***
The Wooden Girl stomped down the hallway in boots that could have crushed skulls. She hated going to theater class. She kept telling herself she should stop showing up. Yeah, that’s what she’d do. There were probably tons of better things she could be doing instead of going there. Tomorrow, tomorrow she’d skip it. The day after tomorrow. Next week. One of these days. One of these days, she would stop going to theater class! This she swore!
She was so lost in her internal rage that she didn’t notice the crowd of Nightlanders until she crashed into them. They didn’t seem to notice her collision with their group, and kept moving forward, carrying her along with them. Wooden shouted at them to let her go, and when that did nothing, started kicking and biting the shadows around her. But even that didn’t make them release her, until they had reached a part of the school Wooden had never seen before. The group dropped her, and quickly rushed away.
“Hey!” She shouted after them. “You come back here and apologize RIGHT NOW!” Several students around her felt the sudden urge to beg for forgiveness, though for what they weren’t sure. But those she had been shouting at ignored her.
Well, great. Now how was she supposed to make it to class? She had no idea where in the school she was. Seething with rage, she picked a direction at random and walked in it.
Trophy cases lined either side of the hall. This was certainly new. Wooden hadn’t realized this school had ever won anything. She looked over the trophies and plaques, without really paying attention, until one word caught her eye. “Theater.”
It was a small trophy, but a trophy nonetheless. Next to it was a newspaper article titled, “Empty City High Theater Team Wins Annual Amateur Musical Competition With Production of ‘Shoggoths on a Roof’.” There was a picture with the article, showing Mr. Steward standing in front of several students, holding the trophy. It was the only time Wooden had ever seen the man smiling.
So… the theater class did do things, once. Interesting.
It was only a small thought, at first. But it would grow into something larger.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Maxwell and Lisa
Days passed. School continued. Students attended their classes, work was assigned, entire forests were destroyed by the amount of paperwork created. All the gears of school turned smoothly. Well, smoothly-ish. As smooth as one could expect from a school where the number of bathrooms changed daily and you could never be sure which floor your upcoming class would be on.
The Wooden Girl slammed her book shut on the table and screamed quietly as she violently ruffled her hair. Salmacis looked up from her lunch, surprised at the sudden action.
“Are you okay?” Salmacis said.
“Who assigns an essay in the first month of school?” Wooden said. “Every other teacher is doing easy stuff! We’re still writing poems about summer break in Lowe’s class!”
“I’m sure Ms. I-330 has a good reason for all the work,” Salmacis said in the conciliatory tones of someone who had already finished their essay. Seeing that wasn’t cheering up her friend, Salmacis changed the subject. “What about theater? Have you started anything in that yet?”
This failed to have a cheering effect. “No. I’m starting to wonder why I should even show up to class. What about you? Aren’t you in an elective?”
Salmacis looked down and muttered something.
“What?”
“…Swim team.”
“I didn’t know you were on the swim team!” Wooden thought for a moment. “I didn’t even know we had a swim team. Is it run by Coach Ferris?”
“No, it’s a club sport. Student run.”
“You should have told me! How good are you?”
A blush started to rise on Salmacis’s face, and she mumbled again.
“What did you say?”
“… I can’t swim.”
Wooden’s mind went blank as she tried to think of a response. Finally, she said, “But why are you on the swim team then?”
Salmacis’s face had become furiously red. “Everyone else in my family swims. My sisters say I have to do it as well.”
“Do you want to swim?”
“Not really….”
“Then you should tell them! You shouldn’t have to be on the club if you don’t want to be there!”
Salmacis quickly shook her head.
“Come on it, can’t be that hard!”
“Yes. It can.” Her tone silenced any reply. The rest of the lunch period was passed in quiet between them.
***
As always, the Cold Boy went to the library after finishing his lunch. Vision’s study group was there as usual. Every day, Cold imagined joining the group. He’d dream of Vision coming over to him and inviting him over, and he would make friends with everyone there…. But it never happened.
Today Cold was taking a break from reading, and was at one of the library computers. Surfing the web during lunch break may not have been the most productive thing to do, but it passed the time. He was looking through his third random Wikipedia article, when a new window appeared on his screen.
>Hello!
Cold stared at the window. He’d never seen the computers do this before. There was a place at the bottom of the window to enter text, so he began to type.
>Hi
>What’s your name?
>The Cold Boy. How are you doing this?
>I installed a chat program on all the school computers.
>You can install things on these computers?
>If you know how to get around the blocks.
The Cold Boy hadn’t even considered something like that was possible.
>Are you a student here?
>I go to Empty City High School.
>What’s your name?
>Call me Maxwell.
>Do you want to be my friend, Cold Boy?
***
The Rake strutted down the hallway, shoving aside a path for himself. He smiled as some of the shadows jumped out of his way. His reputation had spread through the school quickly.
But as he got closer to his class, his confident stride became shorter, and his shoulders slumped. By the time he reached his history class, he was shuffling along the floor and slouching as much as he could. He tried to avoid looking at Ms. I-330’s desk as he silently found his desk in the back of the class.
The bell rang, and Ms. I-330 began handing back papers. The Rake kept his eyes firmly locked on his desk, until she put a paper down in front of him. There was quite a lot of red ink on that paper.
“This is not an acceptable level of work, Rake.” She said.
His first reaction was to growl an insult back at her to show her just how much he cared about the schoolwork. But the moment he looked up at her, with her scarred face and lips peeled back in what was equal parts a smile and a snarl, the bravado faded away.
“Sorry….”
“Sorry…?”
“Sorry, ma’am.”
“And you’ll do better next time?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“That’s a good boy.” Ms. I-330 walked back to the front of the class as the Rake glared at everyone around him, silently letting them know they were dead if they uttered one word about this.
Ms. I-330 had begun to teach her lesson when she was interrupted by an impatient voice over the intercom. “Excuse me, Ms. I-330? We have an intern waiting for you in the front office.”
This news seemed to come as a shock to I-330. “Oh, shi-” She looked at the students, and quickly changed to, “darn. That was today? Alright kids, I’ll be back in a few minutes. Have to pick up whoever they’re making me babysit for the semester. If things aren’t in perfect order when I get back, I swear I will light all of you on fire.” That got a few chuckles; the students knew she wasn’t serious. They were pretty sure she wasn’t serious, at least. Probably. Hopefully. She wouldn’t actually do that, would she?
An unspoken agreement to remain on their best behavior was quickly reached by the class.
***
The number of butterflies that were flying around in Lisa Well’s stomach seemed to be doubling every second. What if her cooperating teacher didn’t like her? What if the students were hard to control? What if she wasn’t able to make any good lesson plans? How were you supposed to make lesson plans anyways? Oh god she was going to do a terrible job and they would kick her out and she would never become a teacher and….
The man with the brown ponytail next to her noticed her nervousness and smiled encouragingly. She tried to smile back, but it came out as more of a cringe. “Don’t worry.” He said. “Ms. I-330 is always bad at dates. She’ll be here soon.”
Lisa nodded, still worrying as much as before. “Thank you for staying here while I wait, Mr. Omega.”
“No problem. It’s not like I’m busy; hardly anyone visits the guidance counselor at the start of the year.”
Just then, the door flew open and I-330 walked inside. “Alright, alright.” She said. “Show me the kid so we can get… this… over….” She trailed into silence as hers and Lisa’s eyes met.
“Ms. I-330, thi is Lisa Wells from Empty City University. She’ll be doing her observational internship with us for this year. We’ve assigned her to work with you, so….” Omega stopped as he realized neither was paying attention to him. From the moment they had seen each other, Lisa and I-330 were in their own shared world, filled with pink bubbles, singing birds, and a smooth jazz sax solo.
Discerning the meaning behind her expression, Omega pulled I-330 to the side of the room and spoke to her.
“Ms. I-330, I feel I should remind you of our staff’s code of professionalism. While Ms. Wells may be 23, she is still a student, and you are her superior. The relationship between the two of you should reflect this… are you listening?”
“Mmhm, yeah.” I-330 said, trying to turn her head back to look at Lisa.
Omega grabbed her face and made her look at him. “Do. Not. Sleep. With. The. Intern.”
“But what if….”
“No.” He let go of her. “I don’t want to waste any more of your teaching time, so you can take her back to your room now.” He thought about what he’d said. “Back to your classroom.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I-330 put her arm over Lisa’s shoulder. “So you want to be a teacher huh? That’s cool. I was just thinking that I could use someone to help me carry my stuff.”
Mr. Omega watched as the two walked out of the office. There was going to be a lot of messy chaos coming from this internship….
The Wooden Girl slammed her book shut on the table and screamed quietly as she violently ruffled her hair. Salmacis looked up from her lunch, surprised at the sudden action.
“Are you okay?” Salmacis said.
“Who assigns an essay in the first month of school?” Wooden said. “Every other teacher is doing easy stuff! We’re still writing poems about summer break in Lowe’s class!”
“I’m sure Ms. I-330 has a good reason for all the work,” Salmacis said in the conciliatory tones of someone who had already finished their essay. Seeing that wasn’t cheering up her friend, Salmacis changed the subject. “What about theater? Have you started anything in that yet?”
This failed to have a cheering effect. “No. I’m starting to wonder why I should even show up to class. What about you? Aren’t you in an elective?”
Salmacis looked down and muttered something.
“What?”
“…Swim team.”
“I didn’t know you were on the swim team!” Wooden thought for a moment. “I didn’t even know we had a swim team. Is it run by Coach Ferris?”
“No, it’s a club sport. Student run.”
“You should have told me! How good are you?”
A blush started to rise on Salmacis’s face, and she mumbled again.
“What did you say?”
“… I can’t swim.”
Wooden’s mind went blank as she tried to think of a response. Finally, she said, “But why are you on the swim team then?”
Salmacis’s face had become furiously red. “Everyone else in my family swims. My sisters say I have to do it as well.”
“Do you want to swim?”
“Not really….”
“Then you should tell them! You shouldn’t have to be on the club if you don’t want to be there!”
Salmacis quickly shook her head.
“Come on it, can’t be that hard!”
“Yes. It can.” Her tone silenced any reply. The rest of the lunch period was passed in quiet between them.
***
As always, the Cold Boy went to the library after finishing his lunch. Vision’s study group was there as usual. Every day, Cold imagined joining the group. He’d dream of Vision coming over to him and inviting him over, and he would make friends with everyone there…. But it never happened.
Today Cold was taking a break from reading, and was at one of the library computers. Surfing the web during lunch break may not have been the most productive thing to do, but it passed the time. He was looking through his third random Wikipedia article, when a new window appeared on his screen.
>Hello!
Cold stared at the window. He’d never seen the computers do this before. There was a place at the bottom of the window to enter text, so he began to type.
>Hi
>What’s your name?
>The Cold Boy. How are you doing this?
>I installed a chat program on all the school computers.
>You can install things on these computers?
>If you know how to get around the blocks.
The Cold Boy hadn’t even considered something like that was possible.
>Are you a student here?
>I go to Empty City High School.
>What’s your name?
>Call me Maxwell.
>Do you want to be my friend, Cold Boy?
***
The Rake strutted down the hallway, shoving aside a path for himself. He smiled as some of the shadows jumped out of his way. His reputation had spread through the school quickly.
But as he got closer to his class, his confident stride became shorter, and his shoulders slumped. By the time he reached his history class, he was shuffling along the floor and slouching as much as he could. He tried to avoid looking at Ms. I-330’s desk as he silently found his desk in the back of the class.
The bell rang, and Ms. I-330 began handing back papers. The Rake kept his eyes firmly locked on his desk, until she put a paper down in front of him. There was quite a lot of red ink on that paper.
“This is not an acceptable level of work, Rake.” She said.
His first reaction was to growl an insult back at her to show her just how much he cared about the schoolwork. But the moment he looked up at her, with her scarred face and lips peeled back in what was equal parts a smile and a snarl, the bravado faded away.
“Sorry….”
“Sorry…?”
“Sorry, ma’am.”
“And you’ll do better next time?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“That’s a good boy.” Ms. I-330 walked back to the front of the class as the Rake glared at everyone around him, silently letting them know they were dead if they uttered one word about this.
Ms. I-330 had begun to teach her lesson when she was interrupted by an impatient voice over the intercom. “Excuse me, Ms. I-330? We have an intern waiting for you in the front office.”
This news seemed to come as a shock to I-330. “Oh, shi-” She looked at the students, and quickly changed to, “darn. That was today? Alright kids, I’ll be back in a few minutes. Have to pick up whoever they’re making me babysit for the semester. If things aren’t in perfect order when I get back, I swear I will light all of you on fire.” That got a few chuckles; the students knew she wasn’t serious. They were pretty sure she wasn’t serious, at least. Probably. Hopefully. She wouldn’t actually do that, would she?
An unspoken agreement to remain on their best behavior was quickly reached by the class.
***
The number of butterflies that were flying around in Lisa Well’s stomach seemed to be doubling every second. What if her cooperating teacher didn’t like her? What if the students were hard to control? What if she wasn’t able to make any good lesson plans? How were you supposed to make lesson plans anyways? Oh god she was going to do a terrible job and they would kick her out and she would never become a teacher and….
The man with the brown ponytail next to her noticed her nervousness and smiled encouragingly. She tried to smile back, but it came out as more of a cringe. “Don’t worry.” He said. “Ms. I-330 is always bad at dates. She’ll be here soon.”
Lisa nodded, still worrying as much as before. “Thank you for staying here while I wait, Mr. Omega.”
“No problem. It’s not like I’m busy; hardly anyone visits the guidance counselor at the start of the year.”
Just then, the door flew open and I-330 walked inside. “Alright, alright.” She said. “Show me the kid so we can get… this… over….” She trailed into silence as hers and Lisa’s eyes met.
“Ms. I-330, thi is Lisa Wells from Empty City University. She’ll be doing her observational internship with us for this year. We’ve assigned her to work with you, so….” Omega stopped as he realized neither was paying attention to him. From the moment they had seen each other, Lisa and I-330 were in their own shared world, filled with pink bubbles, singing birds, and a smooth jazz sax solo.
Discerning the meaning behind her expression, Omega pulled I-330 to the side of the room and spoke to her.
“Ms. I-330, I feel I should remind you of our staff’s code of professionalism. While Ms. Wells may be 23, she is still a student, and you are her superior. The relationship between the two of you should reflect this… are you listening?”
“Mmhm, yeah.” I-330 said, trying to turn her head back to look at Lisa.
Omega grabbed her face and made her look at him. “Do. Not. Sleep. With. The. Intern.”
“But what if….”
“No.” He let go of her. “I don’t want to waste any more of your teaching time, so you can take her back to your room now.” He thought about what he’d said. “Back to your classroom.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I-330 put her arm over Lisa’s shoulder. “So you want to be a teacher huh? That’s cool. I was just thinking that I could use someone to help me carry my stuff.”
Mr. Omega watched as the two walked out of the office. There was going to be a lot of messy chaos coming from this internship….
Friday, March 15, 2013
End of the First Day
2 minutes before the tardy bell rang. The Dying Man grumbled impatiently and tapped his foot as he watched the Intrusion trying to pick up all his textbooks off the ground.
“Come on, you’re going to make us late.” He said. Not that he really wanted to go to math class, but he didn’t want to have to deal with a teacher whining at him on his first day.
The Intrusion apologized, saying he hadn’t meant to trip and drop his book. He gathered everything up, but only took a few steps before bumping into someone and dropping his books again.
The student Intrusion had run into was slightly taller, with pale grey skin and a shaved head. He growled at Intrusion, and said, “Watch where you’re going, loser.”
“I-I’m sorry….” Intrusion said.
“Not sorry enough.” The other student said. He picked up one of the textbooks. “But you will be.” With an evil grin, he grabbed several pages from inside the book with his long nails, and tore them out.
“Hey!” The Dying Man shouted, stepping between them. “Leave him alone!”
“Or what? You going to cry at me, pizza face?”
The Dying Man punched him in the jaw. The other student stumbled back, and Dying pounced on him, punching again.
“What’s going on here?” Someone shouted. An older student with eyes spread across his body, approached with a determined march.
Before Dying could say anything, the other student started crying, “He attacked me! I was just minding my own business and suddenly he started hitting me!”
“Did he now?” The older student pulled out a slip of paper saying “Hall Monitor,” and displayed it like a badge. “I’m Judgment, Hall Monitor. And you are in big trouble, kid.”
The Dying Man snarled at him. “You’re not a teacher, you can’t do anything to me!”
“No, but I can take you to someone who can!” He grabbed Dying by the ear, and began to pull him away. Before leaving, he asked the other student, “What’s your name, so I can report this?”
“The Rake.”
“Got it. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he gets what he deserves.”
The Intrusion tried to speak up in Dying’s defense, but Judgment was already walking away with him. Crestfallen, Intrusion picked up the rest of his books. The Rake gave him a cruel grin and another shove, then walked off as the tardy bell rang.
***
“Hello students, I’m Coach Ferris, your PE instructor. Since this is the first day, we’re going to start off easy. I’ll run you all through a little obstacle course. At the first station, you’ll have to climb the wooden wall, then run through the tires. At the third station you’ll be crawling under the barbed wire; keep your heads down, that’s live ammo they’ll be shooting above you. Fourth station, you will play a children’s trading card game. Don’t worry, it’s just a practice game, so no one’s going to die. Fifth station is the rope swing, and then at the last station you will need to use your kung fu to fight off ninjas. Everyone got that?”
***
The bell had already run by the time the Intrusion made it to Mr. Proxiehunter’s math class. The teacher narrowed his eyes at Intrusion when he came into the class, but showed Intrusion to his seat. As Intrusion sat down, Proxiehunter said to him, “Always be sure to be ready on time. A few minutes can be the difference between life and death.”
“As I was saying,” Proxiehunter continued his lesson to the class, “these are the tools which you must have for this class.” He pointed at a list on the board. “Pencil! Paper! Binder! Textbook! If you forget any of these, I cannot guarantee your safety in this class.”
That declaration was met with silence by the class. Nervously, Intrusion raised his hand. “Um… Mr. Proxiehunter… my textbook was kinda destroyed today….” He showed the professor the torn out pages in his book.
Proxiehunter shook his head angrily, but then walked over to a shelf and pulled out another textbook, which he handed to Intrusion. “You get this one break, but don’t lose your book again. It could save your life!”
Intrusion couldn’t help but ask. “How?”
Mr. Proxiehunter didn’t miss a beat. “If you’re attacked by surprise, you can use it as a shield against knife attacks. It also works as an improvised clubbing weapon.” He opened he book and pointed at several diagrams. “And if you ever find yourself on a plane that is spiraling out of control, you can use this to calculate the trajectory you will need to glide in order to land safely on the ground!”
“I’ll… take your word for it, Mr. Proxiehunter.”
***
Judgment’s grip was unrelenting as he dragged Dying down the hallways. Despite the obvious futility, Dying continued to struggle. “Let go of me, asshole! You’ve made me late to my stupid class!”
“Your class can wait until after you’ve been disciplined for your actions. Ah, there’s the assistant principal. He’ll deal with you.”
A man in a grey trench coat and fedora stood in the hall, his face obscured by his hat’s shadow. Judgment stepped toward him and said, “Excuse me, Mr….”
Suddenly sparks flew off the ceiling lamp above Judgment, and the glass fell, nearly hitting him. In his panic, he let go of Dying, who used the opportunity to run for it.
“Hey! Come back here!” Judgment shouted, chasing after Dying. “You can’t run from me! I’M A HALL MONITOR!”
Ignored by the two, the assistant principal quietly pulled out and checked a pocket watch, and then faded away into the background.
***
The last bell of the day rang, and the students poured out. Within a few minutes, the building was empty, save the remaining faculty. A man with a broom walked through each classroom, followed closely by a large black dog. On a regular day one could expect quite a mess after school was over, but the chaos of the first day was a class of its own. Still, you couldn’t complain The man with the broom scratched his dog behind the ears and whistled a few notes from a favorite Bowie song of his before resuming his work.
Principal Jack watched Mr. Sane and the Black Dog as they tidied up the school building. A reminiscent smile was on his face as he thought back to what had transpired. Ah, the first day of school. Always such a magical time. Full of hope for the year ahead, and potential for all sorts of adventure and dreams. It was one of his favorite moments of the school year.
Jack looked around at the near empty hallways, and sighed. “Bored now.” He snapped his fingers, and time jumped forward. The sun set, the moon rose, it set, and then the sun rose again, all in what felt like seconds.
He snapped his fingers again, and time returned to normal. The smile returned to Jack’s face. The second day of school was also nice, he supposed.
“Come on, you’re going to make us late.” He said. Not that he really wanted to go to math class, but he didn’t want to have to deal with a teacher whining at him on his first day.
The Intrusion apologized, saying he hadn’t meant to trip and drop his book. He gathered everything up, but only took a few steps before bumping into someone and dropping his books again.
The student Intrusion had run into was slightly taller, with pale grey skin and a shaved head. He growled at Intrusion, and said, “Watch where you’re going, loser.”
“I-I’m sorry….” Intrusion said.
“Not sorry enough.” The other student said. He picked up one of the textbooks. “But you will be.” With an evil grin, he grabbed several pages from inside the book with his long nails, and tore them out.
“Hey!” The Dying Man shouted, stepping between them. “Leave him alone!”
“Or what? You going to cry at me, pizza face?”
The Dying Man punched him in the jaw. The other student stumbled back, and Dying pounced on him, punching again.
“What’s going on here?” Someone shouted. An older student with eyes spread across his body, approached with a determined march.
Before Dying could say anything, the other student started crying, “He attacked me! I was just minding my own business and suddenly he started hitting me!”
“Did he now?” The older student pulled out a slip of paper saying “Hall Monitor,” and displayed it like a badge. “I’m Judgment, Hall Monitor. And you are in big trouble, kid.”
The Dying Man snarled at him. “You’re not a teacher, you can’t do anything to me!”
“No, but I can take you to someone who can!” He grabbed Dying by the ear, and began to pull him away. Before leaving, he asked the other student, “What’s your name, so I can report this?”
“The Rake.”
“Got it. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he gets what he deserves.”
The Intrusion tried to speak up in Dying’s defense, but Judgment was already walking away with him. Crestfallen, Intrusion picked up the rest of his books. The Rake gave him a cruel grin and another shove, then walked off as the tardy bell rang.
***
“Hello students, I’m Coach Ferris, your PE instructor. Since this is the first day, we’re going to start off easy. I’ll run you all through a little obstacle course. At the first station, you’ll have to climb the wooden wall, then run through the tires. At the third station you’ll be crawling under the barbed wire; keep your heads down, that’s live ammo they’ll be shooting above you. Fourth station, you will play a children’s trading card game. Don’t worry, it’s just a practice game, so no one’s going to die. Fifth station is the rope swing, and then at the last station you will need to use your kung fu to fight off ninjas. Everyone got that?”
***
The bell had already run by the time the Intrusion made it to Mr. Proxiehunter’s math class. The teacher narrowed his eyes at Intrusion when he came into the class, but showed Intrusion to his seat. As Intrusion sat down, Proxiehunter said to him, “Always be sure to be ready on time. A few minutes can be the difference between life and death.”
“As I was saying,” Proxiehunter continued his lesson to the class, “these are the tools which you must have for this class.” He pointed at a list on the board. “Pencil! Paper! Binder! Textbook! If you forget any of these, I cannot guarantee your safety in this class.”
That declaration was met with silence by the class. Nervously, Intrusion raised his hand. “Um… Mr. Proxiehunter… my textbook was kinda destroyed today….” He showed the professor the torn out pages in his book.
Proxiehunter shook his head angrily, but then walked over to a shelf and pulled out another textbook, which he handed to Intrusion. “You get this one break, but don’t lose your book again. It could save your life!”
Intrusion couldn’t help but ask. “How?”
Mr. Proxiehunter didn’t miss a beat. “If you’re attacked by surprise, you can use it as a shield against knife attacks. It also works as an improvised clubbing weapon.” He opened he book and pointed at several diagrams. “And if you ever find yourself on a plane that is spiraling out of control, you can use this to calculate the trajectory you will need to glide in order to land safely on the ground!”
“I’ll… take your word for it, Mr. Proxiehunter.”
***
Judgment’s grip was unrelenting as he dragged Dying down the hallways. Despite the obvious futility, Dying continued to struggle. “Let go of me, asshole! You’ve made me late to my stupid class!”
“Your class can wait until after you’ve been disciplined for your actions. Ah, there’s the assistant principal. He’ll deal with you.”
A man in a grey trench coat and fedora stood in the hall, his face obscured by his hat’s shadow. Judgment stepped toward him and said, “Excuse me, Mr….”
Suddenly sparks flew off the ceiling lamp above Judgment, and the glass fell, nearly hitting him. In his panic, he let go of Dying, who used the opportunity to run for it.
“Hey! Come back here!” Judgment shouted, chasing after Dying. “You can’t run from me! I’M A HALL MONITOR!”
Ignored by the two, the assistant principal quietly pulled out and checked a pocket watch, and then faded away into the background.
***
The last bell of the day rang, and the students poured out. Within a few minutes, the building was empty, save the remaining faculty. A man with a broom walked through each classroom, followed closely by a large black dog. On a regular day one could expect quite a mess after school was over, but the chaos of the first day was a class of its own. Still, you couldn’t complain The man with the broom scratched his dog behind the ears and whistled a few notes from a favorite Bowie song of his before resuming his work.
Principal Jack watched Mr. Sane and the Black Dog as they tidied up the school building. A reminiscent smile was on his face as he thought back to what had transpired. Ah, the first day of school. Always such a magical time. Full of hope for the year ahead, and potential for all sorts of adventure and dreams. It was one of his favorite moments of the school year.
Jack looked around at the near empty hallways, and sighed. “Bored now.” He snapped his fingers, and time jumped forward. The sun set, the moon rose, it set, and then the sun rose again, all in what felt like seconds.
He snapped his fingers again, and time returned to normal. The smile returned to Jack’s face. The second day of school was also nice, he supposed.
Monday, March 11, 2013
Lunch
The bell rang, and lunch began. Within minutes the cafeteria was filling up with students, either grabbing a chair or getting into line for food. The older students quickly picked familiar spots with friends, while the freshman hovered uncertainly, trying to discern an open chair amongst the invisible seating chart.
As for the food itself, well, suffice to say that the only students in line were freshman. Those who were old enough to know what to expect from the cafeteria had all brought their own lunches.
***
The number of crowds she was having to deal with was really beginning to grate on the Wooden Girl’s nerves. This wasn’t even a very large school, but these shadows had an annoying knack at always gathering en masse between her and wherever she was trying to reach.
Not that she was very enthusiastic about reaching this destination. Seeing what could only be called brownish-gray goop dropped on her plate had been just the latest horrible event in what was becoming a terrible day, and her stomach was rebelling at the thought of sitting down and eating it. Hunger and nausea were locked in battle, and it was still uncertain which would emerge victorious.
As Wooden worked her way to an empty seat, she passed a table occupied by several older girls in green dresses. It was clear that the one in the center was the leader of the group, based on how eagerly the others listened to what she said, and her distinctive appearance. She was completely bald, with emerald green eyes and a narrow predatory face. She wore a green dress like the others in her group, but at her waist the dress grew tighter and slimmer, until it turned into snake’s body. The lead girl giggled when she looked at Wooden’s makeup.
“I didn’t know the school had hired a clown.” The other girls dutifully laughed at the joke. Wooden glared at them, but that only made them laugh harder.
Usually, Wooden would have ignored the remark. But she was not feeling in a good mood at the time. With a look down at the food on her tray, she came up with a much better use for it than eating.
With a sudden movement, she flung her food off the tray and onto the girl’s dress. The laughter stopped immediately as the girl at the mess sliding down her.
“My… my dress!” She shrieked. “You BITCH!” She opened her mouth, revealing large fangs, and lunged at Wooden. Wooden raised her tray to defend herself, and-
The sound of a finger snapping echoed through the cafeteria, and everything stopped. The Mother of Snakes hung suspended in her lunge, goblets of food floating motionless in the air around her. A man in a white suit had appeared in the cafeteria, and began to walk toward the frozen fight. He had long black hair that gave the impression of someone who hadn’t entirely left the Sixties behind, and a perfectly trimmed goatee. His face had the look of an affable and learned man, but the appearance of kindliness was offset by his pitch black eyes. And his right hand was completely covered by a black silk glove.
“I won’t be having a food fight on the first day of school.” Principal Jack said to himself as he reached the Wooden Girl and the Mother of Snakes. He looked Snakes up and down, and made a disapproving noise. “Still too snake like.” He reached out with his left hand and poked one of the floating pieces of food, then licked the finger. He quickly spat it out and shuddered with revulsion. “And I may have gone overboard with the food. Oh well, it’s easily fixed.” He raised his right hand, and snapped his fingers.
***
The number of crowds she was having to deal with was really beginning to grate on the Wooden Girl’s nerves. This wasn’t even a very large school, but these shadows had an annoying knack at always gathering en masse between her and wherever she was trying to reach.
She looked down at the food on her tray. The hamburgers they served here certainly didn’t look very appetizing, but it was better than nothing. Still, she made a mental note to start bringing her own food. Just as soon as she learned how to cook.
She was going to be eating the cafeteria food for a long time, wasn’t she….
As Wooden worked her way to an empty seat, she passed a table occupied by several older girls in green dresses. It was clear that the one in the center was the leader of the group, based on how eagerly the others listened to what she said, and her distinctive appearance. She had wavy emerald green hair reaching her waist, which matched the color of her eyes. She wore a tight green dress like the rest in her group, and when she smiled one of her teeth looked like a tiny fang. She giggled when she looked at Wooden’s makeup.
“I didn’t know the school had hired a clown.” The other girls dutifully laughed at the joke. Wooden glared at them, but that only made them laugh harder.
For a moment, Wooden wanted to retaliate, but pushed away the impulse. They weren’t worth it. She walked past them and kept looking around, until something caught her eye.
***
“Your hair is so cool!”
Salmacis looked up from her food. It had sounded like that was directed at her, but… no, no way. She looked around, and saw a girl in pale makeup and black clothing looking at her.
“Is it naturally like that?” The girl in black said.
Salmacis blushed, and looked down. She ran her fingers through her blue hair. She’d never thought of her hair as “cool” before….
“Yes….” Salmacis managed to say.
“Wow!” The girl sat down across from her. “I’m the Wooden Girl.”
“I’m… Salmacis.”
“Even your name is cool! You’re a freshman too, right?”
Salmacis nodded.
“I haven’t been able to meet many other freshmen! Except… well….” Wooden waved at the shadows around them dismissively. “Which classes have you had so far?”
“Mr. Lowe’s English, and Ms. I-330’s history….”
“I’ve had Proxiehunter for math and Steward for theater.” She stuck out her tongue to show her opinion on the two. “I’m pretty sure Proxiehunter’s insane, and I don’t think we’re going to ever do anything in Steward’s.”
“Oh… I liked my two teachers…. Although….” She looked around, as though not wanting to be caught committing the horrible sin of speaking negative of a teacher, “I think Ms. I-330 might also be crazy. She keeps getting the chronology of things mixed up. And sometimes she refers to history with the wrong tenses, like it hasn’t happened yet, or it’s happening right now.”
Wooden laughed. “Maybe all the teachers here are crazy? The school is weird enough that I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Salmacis smiled, and as the conversation went on, started laughing as well. Then suddenly, she stopped, and forced her face to become emotionless. Two older girls bearing some resemblance to Salmacis walked up to the table. The taller had short cropped black hair, and her face was completely devoid of feeling as she inspected Salmacis and Wooden.
“Salmacis. You will eat lunch with us.” She said.
“Yes, EAT.” Salmacis said, a slight quiver beneath her attempt at monotone. Without a word to Wooden, she gathered her food and stood up.
Wooden began to talk, but then she noticed the other girl looking at her. This girl had the same familial resemblance as the others, but with long hair the color of seaweed. But it was her expression that frightened Wooden into silence: Absolutely cold, cruel eyes combined with a hungry smile.
The two older girls began to walk away, and Salmacis followed them. When she thought they weren’t looking, Salmacis quickly turned back to Wooden and shyly waved goodbye.
***
After finishing his lunch, the Cold Boy had gone to the library. The noise of the cafeteria had been a little too much, and Mr. Sigma didn’t seem to mind students coming into his library during lunch, as long as they didn’t bring any food or drinks in.
There were a few other students in the library, quietly reading or whispering to each other. There was one table that caught Cold’s attention: a girl had set up a study group, and nearly a dozen other students were gathered at the table around her. She had red hair and a pair of wings on her back. And her face… she was the most beautiful person Cold had ever seen. The other students in the study group seemed to be paying more attention to her than to the curriculum she was describing, and Cold could hardly blame them. The girl looked up, and smiled when she saw Cold looking at her. He suddenly realized that he had been staring, and turned away to hide his blush. Quickly he grabbed a book and sat down, keeping his face in the book where no one could see it.
There was another student in the library, wearing a business suit and without a face. He was in the nonfiction section, several books under his arm. He picked out another book and opened it to read as he walked to the checkout desk. When his path took him by the study group, the girl’s eyes lit up, and she spoke to him.
“Hey Slender, want to join us today?”
He didn’t even look up from the book. “I’m busy, Vision.” He walked past without even slowing down.
The girl sighed in frustration, and threw herself back into leading the study group.
The Cold Boy felt anger rising in him. How could that man have blown her off so easily? His righteous outrage made the decision for him: He was going to confront this student, age difference be damned!
But then the student came closer. He was even taller up close than Cold had thought. And the energy which he was directing towards that book in his hand was… it was almost frightening. Cold’s anger slowly fizzled away, and he stuck his face back into his own book. He wasn’t going to be the knight in shining armor this time.
***
The school’s indoor pool was kept dark, illuminated only by the blue tinged light that came from the pool itself. Ichor was the only one using the pool, easily swimming laps back and forth, her long hair appearing to not cause any difficulties.
The other two Ink sisters sat by the edge of the pool. Salmacis poked at her food, her nervousness driving away hunger.
“Our purpose at this facility is to gather knowledge.” EAT said to Salmacis. “Not to interact with the student body. Such an activity is not necessary to the fulfillment of our mission.”
“Yes, EAT.”
“You will not dine in the cafeteria any further. We will provide you with lunch, and you will consume it here.”
“Yes, EAT.”
“Further communication with other students will be only done when absolutely necessary. Otherwise, you will focus your time on the acquisition of more knowledge.”
“Yes, EAT.”
Ichor pulled herself out of the pool, water streaming off her swimsuit. “Perhaps,” Ichor said, “Salmacis was attempting to practice infiltration. By creating the superficial appearance of friendship with others, she may covertly gather intelligence, and manipulate them to further her goals.”
EAT considered this for a moment. “Was this your intention, Salmacis?”
Salmacis didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded instead.
“This is acceptable.” EAT said. “You are to resume having your lunch in the cafeteria, and interacting with these students for the purpose of infiltration and knowledge acquisition.” With that declaration, EAT stripped down to her swimsuit, and dove into the pool.
Salmacis felt a smile starting to appear on her face, but pushed the impulse down when she noticed Ichor watching her. “It certainly is fortunate that was your intention, Salmacis.” Ichor said. “Sister would have been most displeased had that not been the case. And that would have been unfortunate, would it not?”
Salmacis nodded slightly.
Ichor’s cold smile appeared. “I certainly hope that you do not give me any reason to inform Sister of any disappointment.” She moved that smile closer to Salmacis. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”
Salmacis shook her head.
“Excellent.” Ichor picked up Salmacis’s plate and began to wolf the food down. Salmacis didn’t challenge the action. The happiness she had felt for a moment was quickly draining away.
As for the food itself, well, suffice to say that the only students in line were freshman. Those who were old enough to know what to expect from the cafeteria had all brought their own lunches.
***
The number of crowds she was having to deal with was really beginning to grate on the Wooden Girl’s nerves. This wasn’t even a very large school, but these shadows had an annoying knack at always gathering en masse between her and wherever she was trying to reach.
Not that she was very enthusiastic about reaching this destination. Seeing what could only be called brownish-gray goop dropped on her plate had been just the latest horrible event in what was becoming a terrible day, and her stomach was rebelling at the thought of sitting down and eating it. Hunger and nausea were locked in battle, and it was still uncertain which would emerge victorious.
As Wooden worked her way to an empty seat, she passed a table occupied by several older girls in green dresses. It was clear that the one in the center was the leader of the group, based on how eagerly the others listened to what she said, and her distinctive appearance. She was completely bald, with emerald green eyes and a narrow predatory face. She wore a green dress like the others in her group, but at her waist the dress grew tighter and slimmer, until it turned into snake’s body. The lead girl giggled when she looked at Wooden’s makeup.
“I didn’t know the school had hired a clown.” The other girls dutifully laughed at the joke. Wooden glared at them, but that only made them laugh harder.
Usually, Wooden would have ignored the remark. But she was not feeling in a good mood at the time. With a look down at the food on her tray, she came up with a much better use for it than eating.
With a sudden movement, she flung her food off the tray and onto the girl’s dress. The laughter stopped immediately as the girl at the mess sliding down her.
“My… my dress!” She shrieked. “You BITCH!” She opened her mouth, revealing large fangs, and lunged at Wooden. Wooden raised her tray to defend herself, and-
The sound of a finger snapping echoed through the cafeteria, and everything stopped. The Mother of Snakes hung suspended in her lunge, goblets of food floating motionless in the air around her. A man in a white suit had appeared in the cafeteria, and began to walk toward the frozen fight. He had long black hair that gave the impression of someone who hadn’t entirely left the Sixties behind, and a perfectly trimmed goatee. His face had the look of an affable and learned man, but the appearance of kindliness was offset by his pitch black eyes. And his right hand was completely covered by a black silk glove.
“I won’t be having a food fight on the first day of school.” Principal Jack said to himself as he reached the Wooden Girl and the Mother of Snakes. He looked Snakes up and down, and made a disapproving noise. “Still too snake like.” He reached out with his left hand and poked one of the floating pieces of food, then licked the finger. He quickly spat it out and shuddered with revulsion. “And I may have gone overboard with the food. Oh well, it’s easily fixed.” He raised his right hand, and snapped his fingers.
***
The number of crowds she was having to deal with was really beginning to grate on the Wooden Girl’s nerves. This wasn’t even a very large school, but these shadows had an annoying knack at always gathering en masse between her and wherever she was trying to reach.
She looked down at the food on her tray. The hamburgers they served here certainly didn’t look very appetizing, but it was better than nothing. Still, she made a mental note to start bringing her own food. Just as soon as she learned how to cook.
She was going to be eating the cafeteria food for a long time, wasn’t she….
As Wooden worked her way to an empty seat, she passed a table occupied by several older girls in green dresses. It was clear that the one in the center was the leader of the group, based on how eagerly the others listened to what she said, and her distinctive appearance. She had wavy emerald green hair reaching her waist, which matched the color of her eyes. She wore a tight green dress like the rest in her group, and when she smiled one of her teeth looked like a tiny fang. She giggled when she looked at Wooden’s makeup.
“I didn’t know the school had hired a clown.” The other girls dutifully laughed at the joke. Wooden glared at them, but that only made them laugh harder.
For a moment, Wooden wanted to retaliate, but pushed away the impulse. They weren’t worth it. She walked past them and kept looking around, until something caught her eye.
***
“Your hair is so cool!”
Salmacis looked up from her food. It had sounded like that was directed at her, but… no, no way. She looked around, and saw a girl in pale makeup and black clothing looking at her.
“Is it naturally like that?” The girl in black said.
Salmacis blushed, and looked down. She ran her fingers through her blue hair. She’d never thought of her hair as “cool” before….
“Yes….” Salmacis managed to say.
“Wow!” The girl sat down across from her. “I’m the Wooden Girl.”
“I’m… Salmacis.”
“Even your name is cool! You’re a freshman too, right?”
Salmacis nodded.
“I haven’t been able to meet many other freshmen! Except… well….” Wooden waved at the shadows around them dismissively. “Which classes have you had so far?”
“Mr. Lowe’s English, and Ms. I-330’s history….”
“I’ve had Proxiehunter for math and Steward for theater.” She stuck out her tongue to show her opinion on the two. “I’m pretty sure Proxiehunter’s insane, and I don’t think we’re going to ever do anything in Steward’s.”
“Oh… I liked my two teachers…. Although….” She looked around, as though not wanting to be caught committing the horrible sin of speaking negative of a teacher, “I think Ms. I-330 might also be crazy. She keeps getting the chronology of things mixed up. And sometimes she refers to history with the wrong tenses, like it hasn’t happened yet, or it’s happening right now.”
Wooden laughed. “Maybe all the teachers here are crazy? The school is weird enough that I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Salmacis smiled, and as the conversation went on, started laughing as well. Then suddenly, she stopped, and forced her face to become emotionless. Two older girls bearing some resemblance to Salmacis walked up to the table. The taller had short cropped black hair, and her face was completely devoid of feeling as she inspected Salmacis and Wooden.
“Salmacis. You will eat lunch with us.” She said.
“Yes, EAT.” Salmacis said, a slight quiver beneath her attempt at monotone. Without a word to Wooden, she gathered her food and stood up.
Wooden began to talk, but then she noticed the other girl looking at her. This girl had the same familial resemblance as the others, but with long hair the color of seaweed. But it was her expression that frightened Wooden into silence: Absolutely cold, cruel eyes combined with a hungry smile.
The two older girls began to walk away, and Salmacis followed them. When she thought they weren’t looking, Salmacis quickly turned back to Wooden and shyly waved goodbye.
***
After finishing his lunch, the Cold Boy had gone to the library. The noise of the cafeteria had been a little too much, and Mr. Sigma didn’t seem to mind students coming into his library during lunch, as long as they didn’t bring any food or drinks in.
There were a few other students in the library, quietly reading or whispering to each other. There was one table that caught Cold’s attention: a girl had set up a study group, and nearly a dozen other students were gathered at the table around her. She had red hair and a pair of wings on her back. And her face… she was the most beautiful person Cold had ever seen. The other students in the study group seemed to be paying more attention to her than to the curriculum she was describing, and Cold could hardly blame them. The girl looked up, and smiled when she saw Cold looking at her. He suddenly realized that he had been staring, and turned away to hide his blush. Quickly he grabbed a book and sat down, keeping his face in the book where no one could see it.
There was another student in the library, wearing a business suit and without a face. He was in the nonfiction section, several books under his arm. He picked out another book and opened it to read as he walked to the checkout desk. When his path took him by the study group, the girl’s eyes lit up, and she spoke to him.
“Hey Slender, want to join us today?”
He didn’t even look up from the book. “I’m busy, Vision.” He walked past without even slowing down.
The girl sighed in frustration, and threw herself back into leading the study group.
The Cold Boy felt anger rising in him. How could that man have blown her off so easily? His righteous outrage made the decision for him: He was going to confront this student, age difference be damned!
But then the student came closer. He was even taller up close than Cold had thought. And the energy which he was directing towards that book in his hand was… it was almost frightening. Cold’s anger slowly fizzled away, and he stuck his face back into his own book. He wasn’t going to be the knight in shining armor this time.
***
The school’s indoor pool was kept dark, illuminated only by the blue tinged light that came from the pool itself. Ichor was the only one using the pool, easily swimming laps back and forth, her long hair appearing to not cause any difficulties.
The other two Ink sisters sat by the edge of the pool. Salmacis poked at her food, her nervousness driving away hunger.
“Our purpose at this facility is to gather knowledge.” EAT said to Salmacis. “Not to interact with the student body. Such an activity is not necessary to the fulfillment of our mission.”
“Yes, EAT.”
“You will not dine in the cafeteria any further. We will provide you with lunch, and you will consume it here.”
“Yes, EAT.”
“Further communication with other students will be only done when absolutely necessary. Otherwise, you will focus your time on the acquisition of more knowledge.”
“Yes, EAT.”
Ichor pulled herself out of the pool, water streaming off her swimsuit. “Perhaps,” Ichor said, “Salmacis was attempting to practice infiltration. By creating the superficial appearance of friendship with others, she may covertly gather intelligence, and manipulate them to further her goals.”
EAT considered this for a moment. “Was this your intention, Salmacis?”
Salmacis didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded instead.
“This is acceptable.” EAT said. “You are to resume having your lunch in the cafeteria, and interacting with these students for the purpose of infiltration and knowledge acquisition.” With that declaration, EAT stripped down to her swimsuit, and dove into the pool.
Salmacis felt a smile starting to appear on her face, but pushed the impulse down when she noticed Ichor watching her. “It certainly is fortunate that was your intention, Salmacis.” Ichor said. “Sister would have been most displeased had that not been the case. And that would have been unfortunate, would it not?”
Salmacis nodded slightly.
Ichor’s cold smile appeared. “I certainly hope that you do not give me any reason to inform Sister of any disappointment.” She moved that smile closer to Salmacis. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”
Salmacis shook her head.
“Excellent.” Ichor picked up Salmacis’s plate and began to wolf the food down. Salmacis didn’t challenge the action. The happiness she had felt for a moment was quickly draining away.
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Class Begins
The Science room was kept immaculately clean, its sterile white walls resembling a hospital more than a classroom. The room was divided into a class, with neatly arranged desks, and a lab, with beaker covered tables. As the bell rang, a man in a lab coat entered the classroom and wrote “Freshman Biology” on the board.
“I am Mr. Beakman. You will find your syllabi on your desks; read through them, I won’t answer questions that are answered on the syllabus. Once you’re finished, get into pairs. Whoever you pick will be your lab partner for the year. You will be doing experiments on them.”
A nervous hand was raised, and then called on. “Don’t you mean we’ll be doing experiments with them?”
“Yes. Of course. What did I say?”
***
It had taken several minutes of searching for Wooden to find the theatre room. And after looking around it, she was wondering if it had been worth the effort. There was no stage, and the few old props lying around were covered in a layer of dust that implied they hadn’t been used in a long time. There were other students, but all of them were the indistinct shadowy figures who seemed to make up most of the school’s population.
The bell rang, but there was still no teacher in the classroom. Wooden began to wonder what she was supposed to do. The other students didn’t seem to mind the absence of their teacher, and continued to chat amongst each other in a background murmur. What are you supposed to do if the teacher doesn’t show up to class on the first day? Are you allowed to just leave?
Not entirely sure what action to take, Wooden started looking through the props. There were signs of past plays, long forgotten underneath the dust. She tried imagining what play each prop could go with. The mask was almost certainly Phantom of the Opera, although she couldn’t imagine a high school being able to put that production on. The mad science styled things may have been from the play version of Young Frankenstein. And the Egyptian costumes were no doubt for Antony and Cleopatra. That one was a personal favorite of the Wooden Girl; she’d always wanted to play the part of Cleopatra. A quick look around to make sure everyone else was too preoccupied to be looking at her, and then Wooden put on Cleopatra’s crown. Another glance to make doubly sure that none of the other students were watching, and she began to say to herself, “No more, but e'en a woman, and commanded/By such poor passion as the maid that milks/And does the meanest chares. It were for me/To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods;/To tell them that this world did equal theirs/Till they had stol'n our jewel.”
It dawned on Wooden that the classroom had become completely silent. She turned around, and saw an adult man in a suit watching her.
“Isn’t this a miracle.” He said. “We actually have a student who knows what acting is.” He glanced at an attendance sheet in his hands. “Since I only have one person on the roll whose last name isn’t ‘Nightlander,’ I assume you’re the Wooden Girl?”
She nodded, her blush hidden underneath the layers of makeup.
“I’m your instructor, Mr. Steward. Your memorization of that script is very good.” Wooden started to smile, but then he continued. “However, your delivery was awful. Just because it’s Shakespeare doesn’t mean you have to say every word like you’re shouting a dramatic pronouncement.” He put the roll sheet away. “Not that it matters. We don’t have enough students to perform any of Shakespeare’s plays.”
Wooden looked at all the other students in the room. “Aren’t there enough people here to fill in all the roles?”
Mr. Steward didn’t even look at the shadow students. “Them? They’d be rubbish in Shakespeare. Great at keeping a set organized. But utterly devoid of any talent. Don’t expect to get any theatrical productions out of them.”
“But… if we’re not going to be performing plays… what are we going to do?”
“That’s an excellent question. Tell me if you come up with an answer.” Then Mr. Steward sat down in his desk, pulled out a book, and began to read.
Yes, it definitely was beginning to look as if finding the classroom had definitely not been worth the effort spent….
***
The history teacher standing outside her classroom door was drawing a lot of attention from passing freshmen.
“Is that an eye patch?”
“Where did she get those scars on her face?”
“Why is she wearing a trench coat?”
As the bell rang, the teacher stepped into the class and looked over her students with a wild grin. “Alright kids, I’m Ms. 330, history teacher. We’ve got a lot to cover this year, so we’re going to get started on the curriculum right off the bat. Here’s your first quiz.” There was a shocked groan from the students as she held up the papers, and a wild smile spread across her face. “Sink or swim, kids, sink or swim. We’ll see how many of you make it through this class alive.”
“I am Mr. Beakman. You will find your syllabi on your desks; read through them, I won’t answer questions that are answered on the syllabus. Once you’re finished, get into pairs. Whoever you pick will be your lab partner for the year. You will be doing experiments on them.”
A nervous hand was raised, and then called on. “Don’t you mean we’ll be doing experiments with them?”
“Yes. Of course. What did I say?”
***
It had taken several minutes of searching for Wooden to find the theatre room. And after looking around it, she was wondering if it had been worth the effort. There was no stage, and the few old props lying around were covered in a layer of dust that implied they hadn’t been used in a long time. There were other students, but all of them were the indistinct shadowy figures who seemed to make up most of the school’s population.
The bell rang, but there was still no teacher in the classroom. Wooden began to wonder what she was supposed to do. The other students didn’t seem to mind the absence of their teacher, and continued to chat amongst each other in a background murmur. What are you supposed to do if the teacher doesn’t show up to class on the first day? Are you allowed to just leave?
Not entirely sure what action to take, Wooden started looking through the props. There were signs of past plays, long forgotten underneath the dust. She tried imagining what play each prop could go with. The mask was almost certainly Phantom of the Opera, although she couldn’t imagine a high school being able to put that production on. The mad science styled things may have been from the play version of Young Frankenstein. And the Egyptian costumes were no doubt for Antony and Cleopatra. That one was a personal favorite of the Wooden Girl; she’d always wanted to play the part of Cleopatra. A quick look around to make sure everyone else was too preoccupied to be looking at her, and then Wooden put on Cleopatra’s crown. Another glance to make doubly sure that none of the other students were watching, and she began to say to herself, “No more, but e'en a woman, and commanded/By such poor passion as the maid that milks/And does the meanest chares. It were for me/To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods;/To tell them that this world did equal theirs/Till they had stol'n our jewel.”
It dawned on Wooden that the classroom had become completely silent. She turned around, and saw an adult man in a suit watching her.
“Isn’t this a miracle.” He said. “We actually have a student who knows what acting is.” He glanced at an attendance sheet in his hands. “Since I only have one person on the roll whose last name isn’t ‘Nightlander,’ I assume you’re the Wooden Girl?”
She nodded, her blush hidden underneath the layers of makeup.
“I’m your instructor, Mr. Steward. Your memorization of that script is very good.” Wooden started to smile, but then he continued. “However, your delivery was awful. Just because it’s Shakespeare doesn’t mean you have to say every word like you’re shouting a dramatic pronouncement.” He put the roll sheet away. “Not that it matters. We don’t have enough students to perform any of Shakespeare’s plays.”
Wooden looked at all the other students in the room. “Aren’t there enough people here to fill in all the roles?”
Mr. Steward didn’t even look at the shadow students. “Them? They’d be rubbish in Shakespeare. Great at keeping a set organized. But utterly devoid of any talent. Don’t expect to get any theatrical productions out of them.”
“But… if we’re not going to be performing plays… what are we going to do?”
“That’s an excellent question. Tell me if you come up with an answer.” Then Mr. Steward sat down in his desk, pulled out a book, and began to read.
Yes, it definitely was beginning to look as if finding the classroom had definitely not been worth the effort spent….
***
The history teacher standing outside her classroom door was drawing a lot of attention from passing freshmen.
“Is that an eye patch?”
“Where did she get those scars on her face?”
“Why is she wearing a trench coat?”
As the bell rang, the teacher stepped into the class and looked over her students with a wild grin. “Alright kids, I’m Ms. 330, history teacher. We’ve got a lot to cover this year, so we’re going to get started on the curriculum right off the bat. Here’s your first quiz.” There was a shocked groan from the students as she held up the papers, and a wild smile spread across her face. “Sink or swim, kids, sink or swim. We’ll see how many of you make it through this class alive.”
Friday, February 22, 2013
First Bell
The first day of school. One of the most dreaded days in the entire year.
Students had already started to gather in the school’s courtyard, waiting for the bell which would trigger a mad dash to classes. Children called each other’s names out as they saw one another, gathering into small circles. The air was filled with talk and laughter as friends caught up and shared stories from their summer vacation.
At the edge of a courtyard stood a single boy, his blue eyes cast down at the ground. His hair was pale blond, which combined with his pale skin gave him an almost ghostly appearance. He hadn’t been sure what he was supposed to wear on the first day, and in his panic had gone too formal, wearing a little blue suit that didn’t fit him very well.
Whenever he heard someone near him speak, he looked up, eyes expectant. But they were always talking to someone else. Of course, it was foolish to hope they would be talking to him, he told himself. He didn’t know any of the shadowy figures milling around. And besides, he bitterly thought to himself, why would anyone want to hang out with him?
With a heavy sigh, the Cold Boy walked past the courtyard, into the school. If he wasn’t going to be meeting anyone here, at least he could find his classes ahead of time.
***
As time passed, the courtyard became more crowded, filling up with shadows. With only a few more minutes until the bell, it was packed, and even more students were steadily arriving.
The Wooden Girl glared at the crowd, as if willing it to move out of her way. Of course it didn’t, but she wanted to glare at something. Shoving her way through the entire student body was not how she had wanted to start her first day of high school. Still, she had to get inside the building somehow….
As soon as she saw a gap, she slipped in, and tried to snake her way through whatever openings she could find. Wooden was dressed in black clothes, with black boots that looked like they could crush someone’s skull. She had short cut brown hair which matched the color of her eyes. Her face was covered with makeup which, in skilled hands, would have made her look dark and mysterious, but in her hands just made her look like someone who wasn’t good at applying makeup.
Wooden had managed to push through the crowd halfway to the school, when a roar drowned out the sounds of conversation. Three motorcycles pulled up to the front gate of the school, and their riders dismounted. In spite of how crowded it was, all the students pulled back to give the three a clear path to the school.
All three of the bikers were wearing black leather jackets. The one in the lead was a man whose face was covered by a gas mask, and who held himself with an air of authority that demanded respect. Behind him was a woman with fiery red hair, idly chewing on a lit cigarette that she spat out before stepping onto school grounds, and a massive, muscular man with an untamed mess of grey hair and a wild beard. The first thing that struck Wooden was how old they looked: she’d become used to seeing middle schoolers, but these three students were nearly grown up….
A car soon parked by the motorcycles. It was sleek, black, and screamed wealth and luxury in its every curve. Another young adult got out of the car: this one tall, faceless, and wearing a business suit. He saw the man in a gas mask, and the two began to walk toward each other.
Oh no, Wooden thought. She’d seen the TV shows. The preps and the rebels. The classic mortal enemies of every high school drama. This could get ugly….
The student with the gas mask extended his hand, and the faceless student grasped it, and shook. The faceless student nodded to the other two, and the four walked together into the school building.
Well, that didn’t go as expected, Wooden thought to herself. She didn’t have time to think much more on it, because just then the bell rang, and she was swarmed by the sudden flood of people trying to make it inside.
***
The red sports car screeched to a stop just as the school bell was ringing. Out of the passenger side came a glum looking student dressed in grey. His hair was a stringy mess, already balding in some patches. Acne covered his face, and the skin on his hands was dry and cracked.
A sultry voice from inside the car said, “Have a fun first day of high school, dear.”
He looked back into the car, at the curvy woman in a low cut red dress. “Yes, Mom.” He mumbled.
“I love you, Dying.” She said.
“Love you too mom.” And with that reply, the car sped away.
Another student approached the Dying Man, this one completely bald and with oddly unblinking black eyes.
“Dude, your mom is totally hot.” He said in a buzzing voice.
“Shut up, Intrusion.”
“I’m just saying….”
“I said shut up.” Dying looked at the school and groaned. “Come on, let’s get this over with….”
***
A young girl ran through the hallways of Empty City High, nervously glancing down at a school map every few seconds. She had light blue hair and eyes, and probably should have been paying more attention to where she was going than to her map, because when she tried turning a corner, she ran right into someone, knocking them over and landing on top of them.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t see you….” Her words trailed off as she realized the person she had fallen on top of was an adult, and therefore likely a teacher. Utter dread appeared on her face, as she imagined the horrible punishment awaiting her.
Except instead of anger, the teacher responded with laughter. The teacher was a man with blond hair, wearing a black suit with a purple scarf around his neck. A guitar was strapped over his back, and he had been wearing a trilby before it had been knocked off by the collision. “No harm done.” He said. “Although I will need you to get off me eventually. Class is about to start.”
With a panicked jump, she quickly got off him. The teacher stood up, and recovered his hat. “Just try not to run in the hallways next time, Ms…?”
“Ink. Salmacis Ink.” She said.
“Ink, hm?” The teacher thought for a moment. “Oh yes, I remember the name now. Both of your sisters took a semester with me. It’s a shame they didn’t continue; they both had a lot of talent.” He extended his hand. “I’m Mr. Dooling, band and choir director.”
Still a little surprised she wasn’t in trouble, Salmacis slowly took the hand and shook.
“Now what are you doing in the halls at this time?” Mr. Dooling said after letting go. “Class is about to start.”
The words rushed out of Salmacis’s mouth as if they were racing each other. “I know but I couldn’t find my class and I tried following the map but nothing on it’s right and I’m going to be late on my first day and they’re going to kick me out of school and-”
“Woah, calm down there.” Mr. Dooling took her map, glanced at it for a moment, and then threw it aside. “Don’t bother with the maps. The campus changes shape every day. Which class do you have first?”
She checked her schedule. “English with… Mr. Lowe.”
“You got lucky with that. He won’t mind you being late the first day. Follow me, I’ll take you to his class.” He started to walk down the hallway.
A grin grew on Salmacis’s face, and she nodded once. “Yes, Mr. Dooling!” She said, then followed after him.
Students had already started to gather in the school’s courtyard, waiting for the bell which would trigger a mad dash to classes. Children called each other’s names out as they saw one another, gathering into small circles. The air was filled with talk and laughter as friends caught up and shared stories from their summer vacation.
At the edge of a courtyard stood a single boy, his blue eyes cast down at the ground. His hair was pale blond, which combined with his pale skin gave him an almost ghostly appearance. He hadn’t been sure what he was supposed to wear on the first day, and in his panic had gone too formal, wearing a little blue suit that didn’t fit him very well.
Whenever he heard someone near him speak, he looked up, eyes expectant. But they were always talking to someone else. Of course, it was foolish to hope they would be talking to him, he told himself. He didn’t know any of the shadowy figures milling around. And besides, he bitterly thought to himself, why would anyone want to hang out with him?
With a heavy sigh, the Cold Boy walked past the courtyard, into the school. If he wasn’t going to be meeting anyone here, at least he could find his classes ahead of time.
***
As time passed, the courtyard became more crowded, filling up with shadows. With only a few more minutes until the bell, it was packed, and even more students were steadily arriving.
The Wooden Girl glared at the crowd, as if willing it to move out of her way. Of course it didn’t, but she wanted to glare at something. Shoving her way through the entire student body was not how she had wanted to start her first day of high school. Still, she had to get inside the building somehow….
As soon as she saw a gap, she slipped in, and tried to snake her way through whatever openings she could find. Wooden was dressed in black clothes, with black boots that looked like they could crush someone’s skull. She had short cut brown hair which matched the color of her eyes. Her face was covered with makeup which, in skilled hands, would have made her look dark and mysterious, but in her hands just made her look like someone who wasn’t good at applying makeup.
Wooden had managed to push through the crowd halfway to the school, when a roar drowned out the sounds of conversation. Three motorcycles pulled up to the front gate of the school, and their riders dismounted. In spite of how crowded it was, all the students pulled back to give the three a clear path to the school.
All three of the bikers were wearing black leather jackets. The one in the lead was a man whose face was covered by a gas mask, and who held himself with an air of authority that demanded respect. Behind him was a woman with fiery red hair, idly chewing on a lit cigarette that she spat out before stepping onto school grounds, and a massive, muscular man with an untamed mess of grey hair and a wild beard. The first thing that struck Wooden was how old they looked: she’d become used to seeing middle schoolers, but these three students were nearly grown up….
A car soon parked by the motorcycles. It was sleek, black, and screamed wealth and luxury in its every curve. Another young adult got out of the car: this one tall, faceless, and wearing a business suit. He saw the man in a gas mask, and the two began to walk toward each other.
Oh no, Wooden thought. She’d seen the TV shows. The preps and the rebels. The classic mortal enemies of every high school drama. This could get ugly….
The student with the gas mask extended his hand, and the faceless student grasped it, and shook. The faceless student nodded to the other two, and the four walked together into the school building.
Well, that didn’t go as expected, Wooden thought to herself. She didn’t have time to think much more on it, because just then the bell rang, and she was swarmed by the sudden flood of people trying to make it inside.
***
The red sports car screeched to a stop just as the school bell was ringing. Out of the passenger side came a glum looking student dressed in grey. His hair was a stringy mess, already balding in some patches. Acne covered his face, and the skin on his hands was dry and cracked.
A sultry voice from inside the car said, “Have a fun first day of high school, dear.”
He looked back into the car, at the curvy woman in a low cut red dress. “Yes, Mom.” He mumbled.
“I love you, Dying.” She said.
“Love you too mom.” And with that reply, the car sped away.
Another student approached the Dying Man, this one completely bald and with oddly unblinking black eyes.
“Dude, your mom is totally hot.” He said in a buzzing voice.
“Shut up, Intrusion.”
“I’m just saying….”
“I said shut up.” Dying looked at the school and groaned. “Come on, let’s get this over with….”
***
A young girl ran through the hallways of Empty City High, nervously glancing down at a school map every few seconds. She had light blue hair and eyes, and probably should have been paying more attention to where she was going than to her map, because when she tried turning a corner, she ran right into someone, knocking them over and landing on top of them.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t see you….” Her words trailed off as she realized the person she had fallen on top of was an adult, and therefore likely a teacher. Utter dread appeared on her face, as she imagined the horrible punishment awaiting her.
Except instead of anger, the teacher responded with laughter. The teacher was a man with blond hair, wearing a black suit with a purple scarf around his neck. A guitar was strapped over his back, and he had been wearing a trilby before it had been knocked off by the collision. “No harm done.” He said. “Although I will need you to get off me eventually. Class is about to start.”
With a panicked jump, she quickly got off him. The teacher stood up, and recovered his hat. “Just try not to run in the hallways next time, Ms…?”
“Ink. Salmacis Ink.” She said.
“Ink, hm?” The teacher thought for a moment. “Oh yes, I remember the name now. Both of your sisters took a semester with me. It’s a shame they didn’t continue; they both had a lot of talent.” He extended his hand. “I’m Mr. Dooling, band and choir director.”
Still a little surprised she wasn’t in trouble, Salmacis slowly took the hand and shook.
“Now what are you doing in the halls at this time?” Mr. Dooling said after letting go. “Class is about to start.”
The words rushed out of Salmacis’s mouth as if they were racing each other. “I know but I couldn’t find my class and I tried following the map but nothing on it’s right and I’m going to be late on my first day and they’re going to kick me out of school and-”
“Woah, calm down there.” Mr. Dooling took her map, glanced at it for a moment, and then threw it aside. “Don’t bother with the maps. The campus changes shape every day. Which class do you have first?”
She checked her schedule. “English with… Mr. Lowe.”
“You got lucky with that. He won’t mind you being late the first day. Follow me, I’ll take you to his class.” He started to walk down the hallway.
A grin grew on Salmacis’s face, and she nodded once. “Yes, Mr. Dooling!” She said, then followed after him.
A Message From our Principal
To the students and faculty of our high school:
Today we start another year at Empty City High School! Soon our halls will be filled with the familiar faces of our returning students, as well as new faces from those just starting the next step on their journey for education here. I know I speak for the entire staff when I say we are looking forward to working with each one of you, providing you all a helping hand when needed.
We at Empty City High pride ourselves on the talent of our students, and seek to create an environment to foster that talent. We are a school of open, creative expression, where our students can pursue their dreams free of prejudices, state standardized testing, violence, and most importantly, free from Fear.
-Principal Jack
Today we start another year at Empty City High School! Soon our halls will be filled with the familiar faces of our returning students, as well as new faces from those just starting the next step on their journey for education here. I know I speak for the entire staff when I say we are looking forward to working with each one of you, providing you all a helping hand when needed.
We at Empty City High pride ourselves on the talent of our students, and seek to create an environment to foster that talent. We are a school of open, creative expression, where our students can pursue their dreams free of prejudices, state standardized testing, violence, and most importantly, free from Fear.
-Principal Jack
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