I sat in the empty classroom. Desks, unused for the past three years, were strewn across the floor at odd angles.
The book shelf I remembered so well was toppled over, with It's contents emptied onto the cold floor; all in various stages of decay.
Despite the fact the door hung ajar on its rusted hinges, I knew attempting to exit this room would yield no results.
I've been here for fifteen years: I've seen the things I know change and then decompose, I've memorized every single miniscule detail of this place,
I've watched as hundreds of students pass through this class room in preparation for a future I will never know.
You'd think I'd be angry, But I'm not.
I'm not angry at the students who were able to move on to an adult life while I was left behind, I'm not angry at the teachers who called an ambulance just a few seconds too late,
I'm not even mad at the girl who brought a box of home-made cookies to school for her birthday but forgot to warn that they were made of peanut butter.
In fact, at first I was actually quite happy. Never having to grow up, no more responsibility, no bed time. In a way it was a dream come true for me.
However as time went by I realized how terrible eternity really is.
The worst part by far has got to be the emptiness.
Watching the years destroy the world you once knew, Watching the teacher who taught you to write fiction and understand big words grow old and then eventually stop showing up,
Watching the school close down and then decay, all can end up making you feel pretty helpless and alone.
Over time I did learn to manipulate my surroundings in small ways. But eventually I gave up, because tiring myself out by moving a twig across the floor wasn't going to help my situation.
Rays of sunlight peeked through cracks in the dusty window pane, illuminating the dust particles dancing in the stale air, and then landing in strange patterns on the tiled wall behind me.
I've always loved looking out the window. Now that the windows have become so dusty, it's difficult to make out what's going on outside of this prison.
But sometimes when I get bored with memorizing the cracks on the floor tiles, I sit in the warm sunshine that's able to get through the grime and try to see through the dusty pane.
I gazed out the window and was able to make out what appeared to be students returning from the new school, which had been built just up the street.
I smiled as I thought about the last comforting thought I have in this empty, dying place-
that maybe I could somehow lure one of those children in here...
and that If the rotting ceiling above this room were to coincidentally collapse...
well, then maybe I wouldn't be so alone anymore.