When reality splits [completed]

Behind double doors

I push open the double doors of a school, that I know I go to but have no memory of. The smell of spicy chicken and old rice flood my senses. The hard white tile squeaks beneath my red and black converses as I walk into the crowded cafeteria. Kids seem to squeal from every orifice. There must've been 300 kids in this cafeteria alone. They were dressed in brightly colored shirts and denim jeans, some even with absurdly colorful jeans. Not many were dressed like I was but I noticed a few. With black bands shirts and dark jeans on, with red flannels around their waists, and black vans covering their feet. I also noted that none of them could see me. Well at least none of them noticed I had just walked in, or the loud noise the doors made when they opened, and then slammed back shut. I think, no one noticed me, was a good assumption.

As the first bell rang, I tried to make it out of the cafeteria but it seemed an impossible task. Taller adult looking students collided into my shoulders and unhealthy legs, without the slightest of decencies. This was a strange experience. I feel as though this never happened before. Maybe these kids used to be scared that I would eat them. Or maybe they were trying to be respectful. Or maybe it was their way of picking on me. Either way I'm quite sure they didn't have any control over it so there was no point in yelling or screaming. They couldn't hear me anyway.

Once everyone is cleared out of the cafeteria I go to what the paper in my hand tells me is my homeroom, unaware of what I'm searching for, or what to expect. But whatever it is I hope I find it. My homeroom is My language arts teacher, Mrs.Brai, I think she's my favorite teacher outside my electives. Of course I don't remember but she seems as though she would be, and I don't think Language Arts passes up Journalism and Art.

When I entered room 311 I was greeted with the smell of fresh glazed doughnuts. And of course I was greeted by the inquiry, can I eat food. I decided not to try yet. I mean I'm not hungry, at least I don't think I am. I imagine hunger would be a painful feeling. I'm quite comfortable at the moment.
I mean I am dead, maybe I don't need to eat. I walk through out the notebook paper filled classroom. Not a pencil in sight. I wonder if that's how it's supposed to be.

I see a boy looking seemingly my age. Not much to him though. He has a baby face, hazel eyes, and small lips with the illusion of looking big because of the braces that lye behind them. I look at the name tags on the desk he sits at, why do we have name tags this is high school, they were labeled by time. Homeroom' name tag says Toby Prilledge. Sounds quite snobby if you listen to it said by a British butler awaiting orders from master Toby. This kid was wearing a navy blue mine craft t-shirt with beige cargo shorts. Need I say more. He's definitely not my type. Why am I even thinking about that? I'm dead. Can I even have a type anymore?

I see an older looking girl to my right. She has almost perfectly straight whitish teeth. She has green looking eyes, quite more dull than you'd imagine. Her dirty blonde hair, dirty blonde as in the hair color, is tied back twice, once into a highly neat, pony tale, then it is braided and tied at the ends. She wears a flowing blue floral crop top with high waisted denim skinny jeans, and white almost vans looking shoes. It was quite clear that she herself had just gotten her braces off. She kept licking her teeth as if they felt foreign in her mouth. And I'm sure they did. She sat in the chair like a true athlete would. I wouldn't be surprised if she was a track student. She sat with her legs apart, and her behind all the way to the back of the seat, as too making her slouch over toward the table, her elbows propping her hands up, which held a cellphone. The position looked familiar, and extremely uncomfortable.

More students began to walk in. A younger looking boy with blue eyes and brown, Sunday best hair, dressed in a beach looking shirt signed by the brand "Hollister". Two younger looking girls, both with brown, short pigtail braids, high on there heads. Wearing plain pink flowing crop tops with a white embroidery lining the seems in the chest and following the end of the shirt. They wore dark navy denim jeans. I started to notice a pattern. Not many people dressed like me. I don't think any of them liked me. Because why the fuck embrace differences?! That had to be it . I wanted to kill myself because no one liked me. It seemed highly probable but who do I tell. There's no one to tell. Not even the voices in my head are listening. If they are than I must be wrong. So I decide to spend the rest of the day searching.