Writing practice: 5 minute stream of consciousness, subject: School Days
walls of shattered glass scribbled with lipstick hieroglyphs, an ancient language of rage and hate and pain and love and other unsavory things above the surface bearing eons of genetic markers in smears of blood, tears, sweat and skin, a history of life contained within four walls. in the halls, scattered floes of paper, lines dripping down the page, clumped and lumped like biology experiments gone wrong, any moment wait to see them raise their monstrous heads and roar the power words of Trigonometry or Calculus until the walls drip and show the secrets of the Universe…or the library, whichever comes first. metal coffins line the walls, lids sagging open as if hungry for more young flesh, for the scent and taste of …teen spirit? empty chamber, with sagging scuffed marked and pocked wooden floors, still echoing with screams and moans and cheers and sighs, with bounds and rebounds, falls and recalls, and buzzers ring. above, sullen light flickers and crackles, dust-covered tubes hanging, some dangling almost to block the path, almost to mark the path, to show the way to yet another hall, another bleak perspective. tumbled tables, legs in the air, helpless dinosaurs tossed across the tiled room to land where they will. phantom scent of grease and mystery, of hunger and appetite denied, leads to the chamber of horrors, each counter scarred and marred by generations of vessels slammed ringingly on their surfaces, and giant utensils whipped and dragged and slicing into vegetable matter and flesh alike, indiscriminately.