Angel Of A Morning

Chapter One: Academy Of Assholes

Blackwell Academy, Arcadia Bay, Oregon

Thursday

Life as a high school student provided intolerable stress than one could presume. For many, it was hell itself. For others, it was opportunity to make something of themselves: to prepare them for the real world. There weren't many students at the Academy, but enough to facilitate a few stable classes - in spite of lacking substantial staff.

It was another typical Thursday afternoon in Arcadia Bay. Blackwell Academy had opened up for the day where students spread about the campus to do whatever they pleased. There was a new soul to find purpose at Blackwell Academy, all keen yet anxious to walk up the steps to the main building where they knew they would change their life forever. With the principal's office the first room on the right.

The new student reported to the principal's office before they made their way to their first class - despite it late in the afternoon, they were given an exception to participate in one lesson to get a grasp of what was to expect in future classes. After walking down the hall to their class, the new student hesitantly approached the door to their class. They peeked their head through the glass and noticed their teacher in deep lecture with his students.

"... Alfred Hitchcock famously called film 'little pieces of time,' but he could be talking photography, as he likely was. These pieces of time can frame us in our glory and sorrow; from light to shadow; from colour to chiaroscuro. Now, can you give me an example of a photographer who perfectly captured the human condition in black and white? Anybody?" The teacher addressed his students.

A girl raised her arm, stealing the attention of her teacher. As soon as she saw his attention was on her, she gave him her answer. 

"Diane Arbus," answered a short-haired girl. 

"There you go, Victoria! Why Arbus?"

"Because of her images of hopeless faces. You feel like, totally haunted by the eyes of those sad mothers and children."

"She saw humanity as tortured, right? And frankly, it's bullshit. Seriously though, I could frame any one of you in a dark corner, and capture you in a moment of desperation.

A knock at the door and the new student had gained the attention of their their new classmates and teacher. With a wave of the hand from the teacher, the newcomer entered the classroom. A boy with long brown hair entered the room. As soon as he made an appearance, few of the students in the room reprimanded her style of clothing. The boy held onto his backpack by one strap around his shoulder in an attempt to look cool despite how scared he was inside.

He sent a nervous smile to everyone in hopes of easing his own worries while the teacher introduced him to the class filled with teenagers. There were seven students in the class - almost everyone in the class had been listening to what their teacher was saying, with the exception of one who was bored out of his mind and resting during his monologing.

"And now, I'd like to introduce to you all a new face in our class. All the way from Sweet Home Chicago, (Y/n) Leslie Donahue," introduced the teacher.

There were a few snickers and muffled laughter at the new student's middle name but nobody, not even the teacher, dared to call them out. Out of all the faces that took in the new boy's features, a young Christian girl found herself filled with fear over his presence. After he was introduced to the class, he had been requested to take a seat wherever he chose.

"Please don't sit with me. Please don't sit with me. Please don't sit with me." The Christian girl thought to herself as she shut her eyes in hopes of blocking out the negative waves overwhelming her.