St Louis

Chapter One

The year ten common room resided in the newest part of St Louis. A complex of low buildings with large glass windows and flat roofs, it stood, dingy, to the right of the main chapel.

It was large enough for a hundred or so students to sit or stand fairly comfortably; a big hall lined with a blue carpet, comfy armchairs and couches, a stage with smaller chairs around tables, all decorated with large portraits of Jesus and the Virgin Mary. Windows looked out to a dreary night, strong waves crashing onto the rocky edges of the island on which the school sat, the moon and stars hidden behind grey clouds. Dank and dismal.

There were several of these common rooms dotted around the “new buildings”, years seven through to eleven, but it was often said the tenth year had the most flair. A dangerous atmosphere, it was well-known that this current set of year tens contained some of the most unpleasant students yet. And for good reason.

By year ten, it was said, the students had gained acceptance of their fate. Death. Obviously, most of them would survive- there were but two Days of Discipline a term (Dods, or “Doddles” by those of the students who had a faint grasp of irony), on the first day back and the last, meaning thirty students would be murdered during their time there. The reality had settled in by year ten, and if you weren’t religious (not every student was, it should be noted) you had the tendency to become a little grizzled.

Those who were attempted the best rebellion they could muster; memorial. It was said by Demson that the dead had moved on and so should you- they were with God now, and the best way to show respect was to let them be.

And the kids claimed “bullshit” and set about their own individual ways to remember the dead. Speeches in the common rooms. Hidden shrines. The subtle planting of flowers, in the case of a couple of girls. Watching their favourite films, often on repeat. They had all but lost count how many times they had sat through Die Hard, Harry Potter and countless Disney Princess movies.

And some wrote:

Wednesday 4th January 2012

Cathy Jenkins today. Her screams were some of the worst I’ve ever heard, which is weird, seeing as she apparently believes The Demon is saving her, what with her religion. Silly girl.

It’s a shame I never knew her well, but I always feel this way after a doddle. Senseless waste of life. I keep waiting for someone I do know to be called out, or my name. It will happen one day, the former or the latter, and maybe then I will refrain from taken my survival for granted.

I never asked what she was here for. Demson had said thievery and Cathy was rumoured to have stolen money for her destitute family, poor girl. A pick-pocket? That’s the trouble with this school, it contains good among the bad. Cathy was desperate to help, and her bloody Catholic family rushes her off to be “saved”. Stupid. She must have been terrified.

R.I.P. Cathy Jenkins

1996-2012

This was by a boy named Stuart King, writing into the night of the Day of Discipline. He didn’t write because he wanted to, but mainly to prove his class-mates wrong. It was after the first Doddle he had experienced, his first day of school, September 2nd 2008, that he had started. The first Dod invariably slaughtered a new year seven, to shock them all into good behaviour. It always worked. Especially with Stuart.

His best friend and partner in crime came here with him. Danny Simpson, “World’s Greatest Pyro” in his own words. Stuart could still remember Demson’s speech.

“Danny Simpson, you came to us charged with the terrible time of arson and blasphemy today, September 2nd 2008. Though your time here has been brief, your death”- Danny’s eyes widened in shock at this. He didn’t know what happened here. He hadn’t been told this school killed kids. The other new year sevens cried out in shock as Demson pulled out his revolver, being pushed back by the vicious guards- “shall be an endless reminder to those who follow you.”