Unfortunate

Chapter 17: Lisa

I sat up slowly on the hard mattress and stretched my arms up, cracking my back. It appeared that I was alone, but in my grogginess I was unsure. I slowed scanned the room with my eyes, looking over everything. I looked at the wallpaper that was slowly starting to peel from the walls after a pipe had broken just above the one wall. There were a few faded posters left, clinging to the walls with the little effort they could muster. There wasn't much else left aside from a few misconstrued books, the room most likely having been picked clean by whoever had first lived here.

Blake was not in the room. I rolled off the mattress onto the ground, pushed myself up off the ground and sighed. I sauntered over to a book that lay open in the corner of the room, the pages face down on the floor. I leaned over and picked it up, the thin papers having turned yellow from age and light exposure. It had apparent water damage, the one page crumbling under my touch. The words were in a different language, possibly French, which gave me the impression that this was once Ms. Rupert's class. She had a thing for languages such as Italian, Greek, and French. I placed it back down on the ground, closing it, then went over to the door.

I decided to go look for Blake, leaving the old classroom and entering the dimly lit hallway. It was oddly quiet for a place with people, my footsteps echoing down the hall. It reminded me of my old high school, except there was less broken glass and dust. Hopefully, though, there were no unwanted dead hiding around the next corner. As I approached it, out of instinct, I went for my knife as I walked past. There was nothing there, my instincts wrong. Something was off, they were never wrong. I guess it was just my overactive imagination instead of my gut. Oh well, I thought, closing my eyes for a few seconds. I sheathed my knife back into my boot and continued through the hall I was in.

It seemed the hall had been cleaned, any sign of dirt swept away. I passed by what I remembered as the old principles office, when the flood gates to my memories opened. It was like I was having an out of body experience, watching Taylor's and I's younger selves.

There we were, right in front of me. Little Taylor and I had been running through the hallways to avoid the teachers. She was wearing a pair light blue overalls and a bright neon pink shirt. Her hair had been up in a ponytail, clean and nicely cut. I was running right beside her, wearing a yellow sun dress and some white legging. I wasn't wearing shoes, because I used to hate them with a burning passion. My father was always mad because my once white socks would be a pale brown by the time I got home from school.  My hair was in pig tails, two little yellow bows holding them together. Our hands were locked together, as Taylor yanked me forwards and into our favorite hiding place.

We had been the troublesome kids teachers feared they would have to teach in the next coming years. This memory was from grade two, and by that time, Taylor and I were inseparable. Our mischievousness didn't stop after grade four like it did with other kids. It kept on growing wilder with the passing years. I believed it had stopped as the apocalypse started, but one could never be too sure.

Coming back to reality, I saw a light flicker from the corner of my eye. I noticed that there were candles that had been placed approximately every 5 meters, lit up and shining like a glowing path to the treasure at the end of a metaphorical tunnel. I wondered how they were lit, if it had been by a lighter or a match. I then remembered how Taylor carried a flint and steel and smiled. I followed the candles and began to hear many different voice, then started to wonder just how many people were staying here in the school.

"Blake, this is Kathy, Marshal and Bishop." Taylor said from around the corner. This hallway led to the old gym where I always hated being as a child because I wasn't an active kid. It wasn't that I didn't like running around and playing, it was more so the organized sports that got to me. I hated anything and everything to do with rules. I "accidentally" threw a football at my teacher in grade 7 because I "couldn't throw straight". I proved my point, and landed myself in detention for a week.