A Concept In School

Where is this place?

I never understood why they'd do this to us. I never fully get why our birth-guardians would make us go to that building. They forced these ink-sticks and taught us how to write words. They then take the slabs that we wrote on and judge. They'd say it's wrong and give a number. The number is made out one hundred and it was always a low number for my room. The other rooms were also forced to do this. Some had higher numbers in the other rooms and we were always compared to each others. Sometimes it would be fun, they'd give us a colourful liquid to colour whatever we want in but I would always get in trouble because my colours would depict a home. They used to be nice to us and not judge us but times changed since we changed levels and rooms. Everything was made harder and complicated.

They made us sit and stare at these thin slabs compiled together by a pin and expect us to understand it. But truthfully, none of us ever did. They'd ask us questions and make us write our responses down using those ink-sticks. I often get hand injuries form them but they never noticed. Occasionally, they would approach one of us and stare and say what we wrote. They'd give us a wide-mouth spread expression and say "it's good" but when they turn their backs to us, the mouth is closed and the eyebrows are creased. On a happy day, they let us out to play with our people. They let us eat in exchange for notes called money. When it was time to go back to our rooms, there would be a signal like a loud, irritating sound. Those that were late to the rooms would be punished. I was never punished but I heard they would be sent to the lord. The Lord rules over the building and everything within the gates. Our rooms had a symbol that are called letters, I think. It's the same when we write on slabs.

Sometimes we'd change rooms but we knew that it would always be with the same people. That's a good thing, I guess. One of the things that were taught to us was numbers mixed letters. It was confusing and multiple times a two-stroke line called an angle was there. After learning this angle, they'd give us more pinned slabs to write on. There would be questions and on it and a few days later a number. After a day of this, the signal rung and everyone from different levels and rooms would run to front gate immediately. No one enjoyed this place. It was a cell to a jail but filled with english and maths or whatever they called it. I'm just glad the day is over but when morning comes. Everything starts again, more slabs and more ink-sticks. This horrible place we tried forgetting is called "high school".