As I walk down the white-tiled hallway with cinder block white walls, I think, "Why does the inside of the school have to look like the inside of a hospital?"
Maybe we're all crazy. Maybe we're in an insane asylum, and we don't know it. They're filling our heads with gibberish and nonsense, forcing us to be the people they think we should be.
That would explain the way they talk, in that sing-songy, cloyingly sweet way. It also explains why they keep us inside for most of the day, and why they stress the importance of math.
My God! Should I do something? Who do I tell? Would anyone believe me? Maybe not. My parents went to school. They were probably brainwashed, too. I bet they'd been taught what to say if one of their children caught on to what school really was.
My heart pumping with worry and questions, I put my backpack and lunch away. As I sit down, I take a look around the room, searching for cameras and other security devices.
"Class," my teacher begins, her happy tone like nails on a chalkboard, "we have a new student. Her name is Jennifer."
I turn, look, and pause. The new girl appears scared. And worried.
How horrid...being new. But even more frightening is being new...and being redheaded.
Jennifer had red hair.
That day, at recess, I found a best friend. A kindred spirit.
Concerning the insane asylum....I'll figure that out later.
Maybe we're all crazy. Maybe we're in an insane asylum, and we don't know it. They're filling our heads with gibberish and nonsense, forcing us to be the people they think we should be.
That would explain the way they talk, in that sing-songy, cloyingly sweet way. It also explains why they keep us inside for most of the day, and why they stress the importance of math.
My God! Should I do something? Who do I tell? Would anyone believe me? Maybe not. My parents went to school. They were probably brainwashed, too. I bet they'd been taught what to say if one of their children caught on to what school really was.
My heart pumping with worry and questions, I put my backpack and lunch away. As I sit down, I take a look around the room, searching for cameras and other security devices.
"Class," my teacher begins, her happy tone like nails on a chalkboard, "we have a new student. Her name is Jennifer."
I turn, look, and pause. The new girl appears scared. And worried.
How horrid...being new. But even more frightening is being new...and being redheaded.
Jennifer had red hair.
That day, at recess, I found a best friend. A kindred spirit.
Concerning the insane asylum....I'll figure that out later.
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