𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘦 | An Old Day
Designed as if it were by a manic depressive; while the floor was polished into a white shine, vacant school hallways decorated with primary-colored posters added onto the overall lifelessness that was the high school.
The noisy commotion in the halls caused by students was replaced by silence.
What difference does it make when detailing the structure of the entire school when in the end it's just drabness.
But let me describe one more thing.
In the basement under the school's administration room or perhaps in the janitor's room nearby the school's library, there are horrible critters plotting against the empire that is a figure.
With one locked door and no window, three figures practically hovered over another. Jaws clenched from one, a grin formed on another, and a smirk was put on full display on the last as they forcefully pushed the already frail one.
Pushed against an old dusty locker, their spine felt a vibrant sharp pain rooting all the way down in a split second before they slid down. Tears were threatening to fall even still they refrained from doing so with much effort.
The self-assigned leader glanced over to her minions. The simple action enough for them to understand the next step.
Unpacking bags of flour, a carton of surprisingly safe eggs, and pulling out bottles of what could only be assumed as water, they laughed as they proceeded to incite 'harmless pranks' on the figure turning themselves off to survive their bullying.
"Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you!" They both began singing together as they pretended the figure was a cake getting ready to be exposed for all to see.
"Happy Birthday dear Emimara!" The cheerfully exclaimed while shoving the hunched figure. "Happy Birthday to you! Tada! Surprise!"
Following along to their act, said girl flashed a joyous smile with her hands coming to clasp onto each other as she portrayed the innocent.
"Oh my! You shouldn't have!"
"Step one. Crack the eggs."
When understanding where this was going, the defenseless figure could only look up only to meet with evil eyes and selfish concerns.
Egg after egg was cracked on top of their head, their vision turned to focus on the floor as a way to cope with what they were going to do to them.
"Step two. On top of that, pour on lots of flour!"
Struggling with breathing when their anxiety was filling itself to the brim, they felt weak and puny before the three as they poured flour on them.
"Step three! For the last step. Pour the special sauce on top."
Water . . .
Cold liquid trickled down on a figure, their eyes glued to the ground as they let everything happen to them.
"Your special cake is now finished! So Emimara, Happy Birthday!"
They clapped and cheered as they all watched in delight how the figurative small figure became less than them as they drenched in the ingredients.
And while they clapped like performing seals, the self-proclaimed leader could only look down on the figure who was soaking in filth now. An eyebrow raised was all it took to silence the two minions.
"Too bad there weren't any candles. ."
Letting out a breath of fear, the one on the floor could only allow quiet tears to spill after hearing what seemed like an innocent sentiment.
"Ah . . Thank you anyways."
Left alone with nothing but an empty stomach and a mind full of pain, they sat there with water drenching their clothes, silent tears streaming down their face, and an invisible barbed wire tightly wrapped around their neck.
A room that was once warm and comfy ran cold.
A figure who longed to paint her life with rainbow, who could once see a garden of plants in pots reaching for the warm rays of the sun, who imagined herself in the future living life on her terms and with friends, now was heading off to a gray-styled prison.
What good would it make if I continue describing things right? When in fact the life of (Y/N) (L/N) has the life of the personified school; dark, lonely, and sorrowful.
What difference does it make to describe everything here when everything feels just like that, lonely and sorrowful.