I REMEMBER the day before they came. I lived in the Belmont Suburbs of Boston, New York with my Mom, Clara. She was the best thing I had in my life, and I miss her everyday. She used to tell me the story of her nineteen year old pregnancy with me. A successful college student at NYU, she had to drop her degree to take care of me. Her father, my grandfather, (whom I've never met, for the record) cast her out of his life, saying she was a disgrace to the family name of Rosenwald. They had expected big things of her, but all she got was me, and all I had was her. What was important was that we were there for each other regardless.
My Mom encouraged me to do well, to succeed. My school was a low ranking one compared to those others in New York, but she always told me that just because that you're enviroment doesn't suit your needs or preferences, you should never allow it to stop you from succeeding. So I kept my head down in school, studied hard, and avoided trouble. Before I knew it I was top of the class, particularly in the area of biology. Even to this day I hold onto the words of my mother.
The day before they came, I was in my final semester of 12th grade. My report red straight A's and I'd even been nominated for a scholorship at Columbia in Biological Sciences! Mom was so proud when she'd heard the news three weeks earlier. We even went to ChuckECheese to celebrate - a tradition manifested in 5th grade when I brought home a letter saying I'd been nominated for class president. I hadn't even won! Yet still we went to ChuckECheese to celebrate with ice cream - she was always so good to me.
But then one day, a horrible thing happened, that went on to change the rest of my life. I remember the day like it was yesterday - the whole school started off in average teenage bliss. Mark Kelly and Stacey Crafton were making out in the English department hallways, the 7th graders were lost and slow in their own little world, hugs in the hallways, loud chatter and a colossal and endess migraine burning in my skull. It was the last day I had to study before I could resubmit my midterm biology exam. I had gotten a B - which was not going to make me look good in my end of year school report, what with my Columbia scholorship rep. My only escape from the noise of the chatty juniors was Mr. Wilsons math class on the far end of the east school wing had next door to the Teachers Lounge. Usually Mr. Wilson would be in there every morning at his desk, marking the students previous days work and planning his day. He had been my favourite teacher since he first taught me in 10th grade - and I would sometimes like to believe that I had been his favorite student. He would teach math like it was a great revealation of patterns and numbers, smoothly combining to make a miraculous equation. Sometimes I wish that life worked that way.
As I entered his classroom that morning however, he wasn't there. Trying to shrug it off, I began to set down my bag and organise my notes, but it felt off. Something wasn't right - two and a half years of entering his classroom at 7.30 in the morning and there he would always be, marking work. But on that day, he wasn't there at all. Not even a trace of him - no laptop bag or even a half empty coffee mug from the staff room. Of course I knew something was up; I was a Nancy Drew at heart. Okay, maybe not one at heart, I red the series when I was eleven, and then I went through a phase. But my instinct told me that all was not fine, and by God, I trusted my instinct like how a cat can see in the night. Ever since I could remember, if something was up I would have a gut feeling about it, and I would always be right.
Leaving my bag and notes, I exited the classroom into the hallway and knocked on the door of the teachers lounge. If Mr. Wilson wasn't in class, he had to be in the teachers lounge. There was no way he'd miss a day of school - he loved his students too much to leave them with a substitute for one day. After knocking on the door a short, wrinkly lady-teacher who I think was the school secretary opened the door and looked up at me through round oversized specticles.
"Yes?" She asked. She seemed disevilled and a patch of her shot grayhair was all scrunched as if she'd been resting it in her hand.
"I was just looking for Mr. Wilson? He wasn't in his classroom -"
YOU ARE READING
Survival of The Fittest (ON HOLD)
Vampire'I remember when they came to us. They took our lives and ripped them apart, before loading us into trucks like cattle. I remember the day before, the last time I saw my mother, and to this day I vow to live on." Seventeen year old Briar's entire l...
