To Shout Fire From The Heart

Chapter I

The sun shined through the window mixing with the florescent glow that painted the room. Noise buzzed through the room as kids rushed to finish. Everyone was working on their projects. The two classmates that were assigned to me moved with ease as they put the final parts on the poster. Bright colors flashed and screamed at you as you gazed at it, but at the same time told you about the Cold War. Pink was in fact a bad color to go with the subject. I do not stop them. Why would I. Even though it was hard on the eyes. My vision drifted from wall to wall looking at the buzz that emanated from the class. A ringing starts that expands in the room. The teacher picks it up with one movement, and the buzz quits. For some reason, the air felt still as if everyone was holding their breath in waiting for what the teacher was going to say next. To know what was going to happen.

"Abby, you're needed in the office." Those words fill the silence, and the buzz starts all over again.

Me, why me? Thoughts ran through my mind as I gathered my stuff and pushed in my chair. At least I do not have to work on something with people I have no interest in. Nor do I have to keep looking at the mess that will happen as teenagers explain a war that did not affect them. The threshold of the door leads to a long corridor. Lockers side by side with each other, they were soldiers waiting for orders. Doors shut with middle age adults giving lectures to half dead teenagers. I all ways think what their life must have been to lead them too here. A sad old barley functioning school. Mold dots the ceiling with wide stains, and the lights give an orange glow.

"office" plastered on a wood sine hanging by two chains. The corner turns as I inter, I see my grandma sitting there quietly. She was not creating a storm of a conversation like she always does when I see her. A small little room filled with paperwork and the clanking of the secretaries hard at work, or hardly working.

"You ready honey." A gleeful tone sings out.

"Yeah." I said as I wondered where dad was. "Where's dad?"

"I'll tell you when we get home." Her voice went quiet. She looks me in the eyes. Steady and still, cold, and empathetic.

My curiosity was peaked. For I feared what the outcome was. This did not feel right.