All Good Things Must End.

Chapter 1: An Introduction Worthy of Failure

The school was built in 1926. Its walls were faded red bricks that once used to hold a brighter, happier color. The first princable's emotionless face was plastered onto a plaque that hung next to the office window. It had a short biography eliminating all bad he had done underneath it. Its words spoke highly of the man, highlighting the small acts of kindness he had done and ignoring the darker reasons behind them.

The carpet infront of the office was cheep and rough. Flat brown and dark yellow ugly uneven stripes coated the floor in a misshapen pattern. The lady that sat behind the office's large window had chipped fingernail paint that resembled the gross carpet in an indescribable way.

She wasn't skinny yet she wasn't fat either. She ate healthy but the high amount of alcohol she consumed every night had started to get her a bit of a belly. Even in that moment she had a splash of vodka mixed sourly into her plain black coffee. Dark bags covered by a heavy amount of foundation rested under her eyes but her annoyingly bright red lipstick distracted from them.

Virgil opened the cold metal doors into the room from the freezing winters outside. Virgil guessed that they once used to be white but now due to weathering and children's dirty hands had turned a more cream color. His heavy black boots thumped against the carpet alerting the secretary of his arival. She looked up over her glasses and sighed.

"What do you need kid," she snapped tiredly. She was awake for hours past when she should have gone to sleep as she waited for her unfaithful husband to arive. When he did he smelt like another woman's flowery perfume and booze. Traces of a soft pink lipstick stuck to the right corner of his mouth where he failed to clean it off.

Virgil smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. He too had stayed up late. Not waiting for a cheating husband, he would have much rathered that than the truth. He was awake due to the screams of his fathers drunken rage as he shouted to his wife about his hatred for his only son. His pathetic, abomination, worthless, failure of a son.

"I'm just a little late. Alarm clock didn't wake me up," he lied smoothly. He woke up perfectly on time, early even, but when he went downstairs his father sat in his chair sipping a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper.

Just the thought of being in the same room as him for more than two minutes disgusted him so badly he walked back upstairs and into his room. He waited til he heard the confirming slam of the door to show he had left to go to his overpaying construction job. The job was perfect for him as the man really liked to see things get destroyed.

Virgil ran downstairs and out the door, having no time to eat so he skipped breakfast. Cold wind hit his face like a brick as he ran to his bus stop. He arived only to see the bus leaving him behind. He would be forced to walk a mile and a half in freezing below zero weather.

When he arived it was 8:30. He was 15 minutes late and his legs felt numb due to the cold winds beating against his body. He really chose the worst day in history to wear ripped skinny jeans.

"Alrighty then. Just sign here," she said and pointed to a yellow sheet of paper. The words Late Slip were boldly pasted at the top. Virgil skimmed through the few names on the list. Johnathan Wright, Cathie Charles, and Patton Foster.

He wrote his name in the name column, wrote Slept in in the reason column, and 8:31 in the time column. His messy half cursive, half print greatly distracted from the nicely printed writing of the other students.

"What's your name?" she asked almost emotionlessly, a twinge of annoyance in her voice.

"Virgil, Virgil Chance," she wrote his name on a blue slip and handed it to him. "Tardy on the first day, very classy." Virgil decided at that moment he did not like the woman. If only he knew he shares more in common with her than most.

There was two hallways, one to Virgils left and one to his right. The floors were both light grey tile covered in embedded dark grey flakes and shoe marks. He went left and took notice at the new sound his combat boots made against the tile. The carpet made a thumping sound while the tile had more of a clacking sound, almost like muted heels.

He grabbed a peice of paper out of his pocket and looked at the numbers written on the page. Locker:342 Comb:34-24-14, that should be easy too remember. The tile changed to carpet again as he approached his locker.

The lockers were a blueish grey that clashed against the dirty old maroon carpet at its base. His locker had three distinct scratches on the right of the fading numbers. The inside was even dirtier than the outside. It was covered in faded black lines from eraser markers' writings. Words of reminders and friends writing silly notes to each other covered the locker door.

He moved his backpack from resting on his left shoulder and had practically thrown it into the locker. His backpack was a few years old. Holes riddled the fabric and one of the zipper handles were a paper clip.

He unzipped the black bag and grabbed a purple notebook, a black notebook, and a pencil case. He shut the locker door with a loud slam and walked briskly to his first period classroom.

The door opened to a hectic mess. Children loudly spoke to eachother, no care of their volume. Only a few kids whispered as they spoke of dark secrets from over their summer.

Posters hung all around the room. Disney quotes and cartoons covered the walls. 'Looks more like a kindergarten classroom than an eighth grade social studies class,' Virgil thought to himself as he walked in.

He looked to his left to see the teacher at his desk typing on his computer. The teacher was observing the classroom to see who should be able to sit next to each other and deciding who needed to be separated in the seating chart. He moved Caleb Todd away from Dawson Ralston as they were the loudest he observed.

He looked up to see the dark teen walking towards him. He smiled gently as he noticed the nervous look that Virgil tried to hide. His carmel eyes filled with fear gave him away as soon as you really looked in them.

"Hello, my name is Dr.Picani but you can call me what ever is easiest for you," the man was soft spoken and Virgil could tell that he had a kind heart.

"H-hi, my name is Virgil," Virgil stuttered and looked at his feet awkwardly.

"Hello Virgil, what do you need?" Picani asked and turned to the younger male. Picani's kind voice helped to calm Virgil slightly but the loudness of the class kept his anxiety raging.

Virgil grabbed the light blue pass out of his pocket and handed it to Picani, his hands shaking slightly. "Sorry, I was running a bit late," Virgil smiled sheepishly.

"It's no problem, I wish I could be slept in for a few more minutes myself," Picani joked and smiled. The corner of Virgil's lip twiched in a smile himself and Picani felt like that was a win in itself.

"It's free sitting today so choose whatever seat you want," Picani gestured to the class. Virgil felt his anxiety spike as he looked around.

"Ya know what, how about you just show me where you wish to sit and then you can sit outside. It's a little wild in here," Picani saw relief flash in Virgils eyes. "Could I please sit in the far back, makes me feel a lot less anxious," Virgil felt comfortable with confiding his anxiety in Picani.

Picani looked at his screen and changed Wyatt Nelson to Virgil Chance. "Thank you Virgil, you can go and chill out in the hallway," Virgil smiled in a non-verbal thanks and walked outside.

By the time it was susposed to go he had drawn Dr.Picani in his purple notebook. While someone might have thought that was really creepy it was just about respect. If he had drawn you than you could guarantee he had your back.

He closed his notebook as Picani opened his door and students started to pile out into the hallway. He stood up and checked his schedule,

Picani: Social studies, 1st.
Remy: Chior, 2nd
Talyn: Art, 3rd
Thomas Sanders: Math, 4th
Picani: Science 5th.
*Lunch*
Picani: Health\P.E., 7th.
Joan: English, 8th.
Study Hall: 9th
He smiled when he noticed how many classes he had with Picani. He literally had every class that the man taught. He stuffed the paper back into his notebook and started to walk to the music hall.

It was the moment he was pushed to the ground did he know that it was going to be a long day.