Art class was the best place in the world. I could express myself there. Drawing and painting were my two favorite things. That's why second period was the best.
All up until Tuesday, December first, at 9:17 AM.
That was the worst moment of my life.
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"Oh, Cassie, that painting is beautiful!" My art teacher, Mrs. Livingston gushed. I was painting my best friend Mallory, after her request. "It looks just like Mallory! Fantastic job capturing her image!"
"Thanks you!" I said, bursting with pride.
"Oh my gosh, Cass, I love it!" Mallory squealed. She had just finished painting a pretty decent Snow Leopard, for her skills anyway. "It-,"
She was interrupted by the blaring of the school's emergency tone on the loudspeaker.
"Everyone, listen!" Mrs. Livingston hushed our ongoing chatter.
"Everyone, this is Mr. Hannigan speaking." Our principal's voice boomed on the PA. He sounded more scared than concerned. "Don't be alarmed, but all students must be hidden. The president has sent troops to our school, and if you are in the East Wing, you can see them. The air force is prepared to bomb in our area. The president is also insisting on being called 'The One Who is the One.'"
Mrs. Livingston didn't panic for a second. She locked the classroom door, rushed to the supply closet, shoved everything out onto the floor,and started filing as many kids as possible into it. Most of us fit; except for Mallory, two boys - Louis and Shane - and I.
"Uh, okay. You guys can..." Mrs. Livingston thought fast, opening four unused floor. "Get in."
We crawled into dusty, cramped cubicles, and Mrs. Livingston closed the doors. I peeked through an old keyhole in the door, to try to relieve my claustrophobia. My heart was racing, and I couldn't control my shaking. If you couldn't hear the marching from outside, the whole room could hear my teeth chattering, although everyone else's probably were.
"I'm so scared." Mallory whispered, almost silently.
"Don't worry." I assured her, at the same volume.
The marching got louder, and our door burst open.
"Can I help you?" Mrs. Livingston asked, nonchalantly, from her desk.
"Where are the kids?" A uniformed and rifle-bearing man snarled.
"Oh, the period ended a few minutes ago. They should be in another class right now. I'm not quite sure which, though..."
"Where are you hiding them?" He roared, now.
"I'm not hiding them. They're in another class." She insisted.
"Then why is all of that on the floor?" Another soldier pointed out, rather loudly. "To make room for your disgraceful children?"
Mrs. L peered over the desk as if she hasn't realized, let alone done it herself. "Oh, dear! They're always making messes; I'm so embarrassed. You gotta love 'em, though! I'll clean them up right away!" She stood up, failing to realize that if she got up, they'd have an easier time taking hold of her and lifting her up to gunpoint.
"Tell us!" The soldier threatened.
"They're in another class!"
"She was useless anyway. It's not like we were supposed to spare her." Another man said. "Go ahead."
I heard a gunshot and a murderous shriek, and I turned from the hole in the door, avoiding seeing my teacher dead. I bit my lip to keep from crying. At the moment, however, I could have used a good sob.
Suddenly, the closet doors burst open, then the cabinets. We were each carried off, able to witness the dead body of Mrs. Annabel Livingston on the ground. She died for us, and I will always send my prayers to her.
Before I was thrown into a van on top of everyone else, I caught glimpses of signs and blimps, all advertising one thing : The New Order.
