This was not the classroom it had begun in, though it was almost identical. The true origin of Destruction was farther down the hall. As of yet, the woman could not bring herself to approach any closer to that place, though she knew at length that she would have to go there.
The day it happened had begun as any other day. The sun shone brightly in the sky, reflecting diamonds off the dew that had collected on the plants the night before. It was a warm morning and people were out for their early exercise – walking, running, bicycling. No one suspected the devastation that was later to come. Why should they have? she thought. I certainly didn’t. There was nothing to indicate the tragedy that was to occur just a few hours later. Even now, looking back, she could find no clues that would have allowed anyone to interfere and change the course of events.
Some said it was a freak accident, which she didn’t believe due to the number of simultaneous and consecutive attacks. Others blamed the militant groups. Still others said it was an act of God. But it didn’t really matter what the cause was. All that was of concern was that it happened. That was enough. The woman was one of the few who remained, and the only one who survived Origin. It was up to her, and the others who still lived, to remember those who did not. For if you are remembered by at least one, then your existence was not in vain and you may rest in peace.
More details…
She went to class that morning, early as always. Lecture proceeded for the first half-hour as it typically did, though an unusually greater number of people had shown up that particular day. This was nothing too extraordinary, though, and could be attributed purely to chance. She did not remember exactly how it happened, but what she did recall was forever engraved in her mind’s eye. If her memory served correctly, someone had stood up in the balcony and shouted something. Maybe it was “Death to mankind!” or “Freedom for a Revolution!” she was not sure. It was surely a kamikaze run, however, for what he did to them, he inevitably did to himself. She remembered watching as a vile flew through the air, then hearing a gunshot, and watching the shards of glass shimmer down to earth like crystal rain. A powder, which sparkled in the light of the hall, drifted down over the people present. Then others around the room stood, tossed up and shot vials they, too, were carrying. The effect on the crowd was almost instantaneous. People panicked – shoving, screaming, and trampling each other in an effort to get out. The doors were locked and barred from the outside. They were trapped. The woman tried to stay out of the way, to keep out of the mayhem, but someone must have knocked her over, because she remembered hitting her head, and then… nothing, blackness.
When she came to, there was a heavy weight over her. It was very dim in the lecture hall; the emergency lights were the only things glowing. She realized the pressure that lay across her was from a body that had fallen. Blood was oozing across the floor, and the smell… the air wreaked of death. She managed to push the fallen off of her and rise to her feet. The twilight of the room cast frightening shadows on the bodies that littered the floor. Hundreds of bodies, she realized, astounded at the volume. Some were still moving, but barely. Most were bloody and lifeless. The attackers must have dropped grenades of some sort after the chemicals, because there were large dark patches from explosions, and blood spattered over the walls and chairs. A scraping sound was coming from by the door. The woman looked over and could just make out the form of some hapless victim, clawing at the wood, still struggling to exit the room. He must have been near one of the explosions, because his legs were but bloody stumps, his face a tangled mess of matted hair and blood and flesh, the nails on his fingers – gone from scratching at the door – were now leaving bloody streaks. It was too much. She couldn’t handle it. She wretched and continued to do so until her stomach was completely purged of anything that it contained.
Why am I still alive? she wondered. I should be dead. Or at least dying, lying among those already succumbing to the dark afterlife. What stopped the Reaper from taking my soul? She didn’t understand. At the time, she couldn’t understand. All she knew then was that she had to get out. She had to get away from the mortality that filled the room. For whatever reason, she was not one of them, and she didn’t want to stay around until she was.
She went towards the back of the hall, to the rear exits to test the doors. They were not locked, but did not open. Must have been blocked from the other side, she deduced. But how am I supposed to open them? Feeling weak and nauseous from the carnage around her, she barely had the strength to think right, let alone force open a blocked door. Then her foot struck something round on the floor. She knelt down to see more closely what it was before picking it up. It looked to be a grenade. Is it a dud? she wondered. Carefully probing it with one finger she found that it still had the pin in. Quickly picking it up she clutched it preciously to her chest. This might be my only chance for freedom. Backing away from the door, she pulled the pin on the grenade, counted to three and tossed it in the direction of the exit. She hurriedly ducked behind some chairs and waited. Nothing happened. She waited a moment more. Still nothing. It could have been possible that it was only a moment or two that passed, and it was her anticipation that was making it seem longer. She was just about to stand up when there was a loud explosion, and the sound of shattering wood. A hail of splinters and debris rained down around her. Cautiously she raised her head above the seats. It had worked! What was left of the door was swinging loosely from its hinges, and provided an exit out of the Death Room.
Now where should I go? OUT. That was the only thought in her mind. GET OUT. The woman left the death room behind her and went into the hall. Her gaze landed on the doors to the outside; their windows had been painted over so that she could not see what was happening around the building. Her mind continued its singular thought: OUT. She went to the doors and tried to open them. They would not budge. They were sealed from the outside. She banged on the door, and hollered as loud as she could for help. She did not know how long she stood there, beating on the door, but it must have been awhile. At last a shadow passed in front of the painted over glass and paused. It was the silhouette of a person. An actual living human being! But the outline was distorted, as if they were wearing some sort of biological hazard suit. The figure then raised a hand with a tool in it, and scraped away some of the paint, just enough to look through the window. The woman’s eyes met the suited person’s for what seemed a very long moment before the figure stepped back from the door. They must let me out now! But what occurred next was the most soul-crushing thing that could have happened. Slowly, deliberately, the personage outside the building raised a can of paint, and once again covered the window, then turned and walked away. She was in shock. Absolute and utter shock at how cold and unconcerned the person outside was with the fact that there were still living people in the building. She couldn’t take it anymore. Sitting down with her back to the door, she broke down and cried.
Back to the Flip Shift Main Page