Hell

Amelia was two when she was first placed in school. The hallways were made of white square tiles speckled with red, green, and blue. Wooden cupboards were pressed against red brick walls, and long yellow lights hummed above. Days were spent drawing, playing with dry rice, and swimming. Nights were spent at home atop pink carpet; creating worlds. Buildings, people, lives, relationships. She was taught the structure of time, with her on one end and the unknown spilling out after. “It can consume you.” the teachers said wearily, their hands like mechanical joints under old paper, folding over each other. “It is the undoing of the unprepared.”

This went on for one whole cycle, and when the new cycle had been born, there were changes. “Use the skills you’ve learned, and apply them.” the teachers said as they sat the students down in their new rooms, spaced equidistant from one another. Amelia let her pencil glide across the paper, and filled the gaps with crayons her mother bought her. She craned her neck upward one day to see what others might be drawing, when the teachers reminded her. “You cannot look at others, this is an assessment of you and you alone.” The next day she received marks on her drawing. “Struggles to keep consistent colouration” it stated at the top, and after this every picture she drew would get marked. The only time her drawings were unmarked was when they were made at home. At the beginning of every month, Amelia’s mother would roll out a large canvas in the back corner of their living room, and the two would add to it over time until the end of the month came and they would give it one last look before putting it in the attic.

“You draw us mommy, because you are good at that.” Amelia would say.

“Again? Does mommy get to draw other things to, a tree perhaps?”

“No. I’m doing the trees.” she would say, and her mom would laugh, though she never knew why.

After a couple of cycles the numbers came. At first it was just in terms of their marks. Words and phrases were replaced by numbers. Total numbers were broken up by categorical numbers, each quantifying the aspects of the drawing on individual scales. But soon numbers became part of the drawings as well. The lines on the paper could no longer be made by the stroke of a hand, but had to coincide with some form of numeric principle. “This will keep your framing consistent.” the teachers said. “Soon you will find yourself capable of the exactness expected of you.”

In between this, the teachers would give lessons on the past, using marks and numbers to express events, and when they happened. “You will be able to create history once we’re done.” the teachers said. Amelia learned all sorts of past events through these lectures, and soon she was using her drawing to create her own marks, marks about what happened in cycles prior. “In the past, people were brutish and ignorant.” the teachers said. “They would do all manner of things we would be appalled to see today, but so is the way of life.” The teachers also spoke of how people were today, as a result of those actions. “It is through the pain of the past that we are able to live as fine as we do today.” they said, and they recounted all of the benefits of the contemporary: food, electricity, school, the ban of violence, and then would compare this to the past, which held disease, inequality, rape, and the various processes by which people removed eachother from existence. “We are better than we were before.” they would say to the students. “Thanks to history, we no longer make the mistakes of the past.”

Another cycle passed, and the rules changed once more, and Amelia noticed the people around her began to act differently. Back in those speckled hallways with the wooden cupboards, there was a sort of homogeny amongst the students. They were a class. They ate together, walked in line together, played together, sat around storytime together, and napped together. But this was no longer the case. Now when class was over, they were free to roam wherever they liked. People did not talk anymore. There was no napping, no distribution of food, only lessons on the past, and strict parameters on what was to be submitted. Unlike that unified class, Amelia’s classes changed over, and over, and over again throughout the day until she was surrounded by hundreds of unknown students. One day after the lectures of class were over, and the other students had left, she walked up to the desk of the teachers, and asked them why things had changed so.

“It is so that you can focus on yourself.” they said, their thick felt gray robes rippling as their limbs shuffled underneath. “You cannot improve yourself, unless you focus on yourself.” When Amelia got home that day, she let her mother know what the teachers had said, and that she would no longer participate in the monthly canvas. “I need to focus on my own drawing ability. The world expects much of me.” she would say, and while she could tell that this hurt her mother, she deemed it necessary for her growth. Eventually the lines went away, as they were “redundant” as stated by the teachers. “You already know the language of the marks, and how the numeric parameters dictate the lines. You will need to outgrow the crutch of the strokes if you are going to be able to push us forward.” they said.

It was around this time that Amelia first saw a dead body. Slumped, in the middle of the hallway on her way from “Processing Information with Consideration For Others’ Time” and “Numbers Representing People” was a young boy around her age, the top of his head was missing, and curly tufts of hair clung to his brain. Nobody did anything, but walk around him. When Amelia approached him, she realised that the teachers were standing in a half circle on a balcony overlooking the hallway. “Leave him be. He will be escorted off the premises.” they said. “No reason for alarm.” She stood there for a second looking at him. The elbow on his left arm was knotted and black as if someone had cranked it around over and over again in an attempt to loose it..

Eventually, Amelia was at the final stages of the her schooling at what was called The Pinnacle, an ivory tower that sat atop her original school. After The Pinnacle, students were sent “into the future to prepare to put their skills into the hardest scenario they’ll ever face.” The Pinnacle was a giant white tower flanked and connected by other smaller towers that sat beside it, but not as tall. Around The Pinnacle and between its sister towers was the sprawling grass yards that kept a blanket of green under the sky at all times. The grass grew to just between the knee and the ankle and hidden in it were tiny clothed humps, which housed dry rippled skin and brittle hair clinging to flaking scalps. These twisted bundles of skin and bone could be found in the dark recesses of the untended bathrooms as well, some strung up from the ceilings; their toes seen hovering in the small gap between the stall doors and the deep blue mosaic tile floor. Others were so old, and so trodded over in the hallways that they had become like hardened bubblegum pressed and blackened onto sidewalk.

“You notice it too, don’t you?” a classmate of hers would say when it was Designated Feeding Time.

“What are you talking about, exactly?” she replied.

“That this place isn’t normal.” the classmate, whose name was Kevin, insisted.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Amelia said, a bit annoyed to have to carry a conversation on the only thirty minute break she had all day.

“You don’t feel anything?” Kevin said, and his hands began to shake as he picked rice out of the square bowl he had. “It’s not your future, it’s theirs they are working toward.” he said.

“Right…” she said, trying to look as if eating her food took all her attention.

Later, in class, her mind wandered. The teachers stood at the front of the room, and pointed a pale wooden stick towards the taught white cloth the projector was focused on. “This is what people did in the past.” they said, pointing to an old etching of a man stabbing another one in the chest; a comical amount of blood flowing out of him, like a river. “And up until a bit ago, it was the same.” they said, and the slide changed to a black and white photo of two other men, both wearing thick cotton jackets with round shiny buttons, one knelt on the ground with his hands up, and the other pointed a rifle at the other. The gun was old, and blocky looking, made of wood and metal that looked like it was shaped by hand. When the teacher changed slides, the man with the gun was firing a chunk out of the other’s face. “There hasn’t been a war in lifetimes.” the teachers said. “There is no reason to, now or ever. But what is important is…” they started, and the slide changed, this time to an old painting of a man in a white toga and sandals, inserting himself inside a woman. Amelia and the others studied the painting. Veins popped out of the man’s arms and penis as he held her arms to the floor. Her face was invisible, covered by his broad shoulders and head. “Without this we would disappear. Without this we wouldn’t exist.” The teachers changed the slides to another painting, this one made more recently. It depicted a group of people standing in front of a small boxlike home, with a fence in the background and cars lined up in the driveway, and a pile of packages sitting on their doorstep. “This is what a good person strives for. A modest, comfortable home where a person can settle down with their family.” the teachers said.

Amelia lived alone at The Pinnacle, in a small room with a shared kitchen and bathroom in the hallway. Everyone in her year did the same under mandate. The floors were loud, and smelled like inhalants. Amelia sat in her room, with blankets lining the doors and walls to muffle the sound and the smells, and watched the television. It played a lot of the stuff that she learned in class, but with a little searching she could find stuff that went deeper; gleaned further. She watched people roam over fields full of those clothed lumps she sometimes saw in the yards at school. Firearms held to their chests, using bayonets to stab anything that dared to move. She would then change this to something else. A bird stood at the edge of a nest, looking down at a group of baby birds. The larger bird was red and white, and the younger birds were a pale blue. The larger bird then began to peck down into the nest harder, and harder, until the head of one of the younger birds burst open, leaking a yellowish white substance that the bigger bird lapped up while the other birds sat around, making squeaking sounds, except for one, which had its mouth wide open, shaking side to side begging to be fed by the nest’s intruder. Amelia passed many nights distracting her senses with these programs.

One day, Amelia mentioned these programs to Kevin.“That’s the real world.” He would say. “School is just here to make us like trees. No eyes, growing upward, unable to consider those that are left behind, strangling them under our roots.” 

“Right…” Amelia sighed. I hear Career Day is coming up soon. What do you plan on choosing, for when you leave the Pinnacle?” He merely shrugged, and did not look up from his food.

“What about you? You got a plan?” he asked in return.

“I think I’m going to be one of the people that tell of the history of their time; like the people that make those pictures they show us in class and on those programs.” she replied.

 “A Line Positioning Specialist.” Kevin said, tossing a dried potato husk into his mouth.

“I don’t think that’s what they’re called, but I like the idea.”

“That’s what they’re called.”

“I don’t really care what they’re called.” she said, taking one of his potato husks. She smiled, but he looked unamused.

She relayed this to the teachers on Career Day. “Someone who makes the pictures, like the ones we use in class. Taking things we lived through and preserving them for other people to look back on, and teach.”

“We know who they are.” they said.

“So?”

“Everybody would take a job like that if it payed well.” they said.

“So it doesn’t pay well.”

“It’s not a real skill.” they said. “Many of those pictures were created by your class already. That’s what your early assignments were. Preparing those pictures for the next class.”

“So that’s what all the lines were for when we were younger.”

“Correct. You should be past that now.”

“But what if I want to go back?” Amelia asked. “Can I do that?”

“Why on earth would you want to go back?” they asked. “Doesn’t your mother bleed just to put you here? Are you really that selfish?” Amelie shrunk in her chair. Amelia and the teachers didn’t say anything. “You aren’t dissuaded?” the teachers asked. Amelia looked at them, shook her head from side to side, and then back at her knees, ashamed of the fact. “Ok.” the teachers said, and marked her as a Line Positioning Specialist. Amelia left that meeting striding and smiling.

“So you got it?” Kevin asked, watching a crouched Amelia study a tree in the courtyard. She didn’t say anything but lifted up a small journal she was drawing in, and showed him it.

“Look how good I’ve gotten at the lines.” she said. “It’s almost just like the real thing.” she said, her bare knees poking just outside of her skirt. “What about you? What did you choose?” she asked.

“Strength Lending Associate.”

“Really?”

“You think I can’t?” he asked, annoyance in his voice.

“Just doesn’t seem like you.” she said.

“Work isn’t about doing what you want. It’s about doing what you can so that you can do what you want at other times.”

“I’m not sure if I can do that.” Amelia said, looking down at her book, and then behind Kevin, to an emaciated woman naked and propped upright, her skin clinging to her bones and her eyes gone.  “Someone should do something about them.” she said. He looked behind him, observed the corpse, and then looked back at her.

“I don’t think this world is ready for a change like that.” Kevin replied. 

The next time Amelia saw Kevin he was dead. Perfect cubes had been carved out of the underside of his arms, and he was sitting in a pool of himself in one of the corners of the library. Amelia looked at him for a while when she found him. The library was silent, except for the faint sound of slurping, which turned out to be two other students kissing, only a few feet away from Kevin. Amelia watched them, and she couldn’t help but grimace. The girl saw her first, and stopped. “Babe, what’s wrong?” the boyfriend asked, and the girlfriend pointed a shaky hand at Amelia. He turned, and when he saw Amelia a piercing anger struck through the contours of his face. “Do you mind?”

 That night Amelia lay awake in her bed, shaking. “Stop it.” she muttered to herself. “Stop it.” Through out the night she snickered, and gripped her bedframe. The next day, she was exhausted, and went to the extracurriculars department. A woman sat behind the desk, hair held up in large golden curls. A glass globe of sorts sat atop the desk, and it said both GRANTED, and DENIED on it in white etching .“I want to make a club.” Amelia said.

“Signature sheet?” the woman asked.

“I think it would help the school. Was hoping you guys would help with the advertising process.”

“You’re an adult now. You can help yourself, and if that–”

“I think it would make the school money.” Amelia said.

“I don’t know how many–” the desk woman began to reply, but the giant globe glowed bright green, so that GRANTED was the only word visible on it. The receptionist pointed toward a large door in the back of the office, which clicked when Amelia approached it. Amelia pushed it ajar, and a voice called from within. 

“Enter quickly please.” a deep male voice sung leisurely. “You’re letting so much light in.” Amelia entered and closed the door behind her. The room was small, and the furnishings were nothing like the rest of the school. It was all wood panelling and puffy pillows, with a hearth in one corner creating the rooms only illumination, which was orange and wavering. A pale round man sat at the far end of the room behind an enormous desk stacked with all sorts of books and papers. “Sit down.” he said. The fire crackled, and something inside the room, or in the room’s walls, popped. He placed a glass in front of Amelia, and with an open decanter poured liquid into it. “So I hear you have an idea.” the man said, “But first, do you know who I am?” he asked. Amelia shook her head side to side. “I’m the school’s Student Relations Relegate. I’m the link between the business world, and your world, the student world.” He said. If something’s bothering you guys, then I pass it up, and, oh…” he stopped for a moment, clenched his hand into a fist and began to cough in it. Something popped again, and then surged like the sound of liquid rushing through a straw.

“Do I have to get my club cleared with you?”

“Yeah.” he said, as if something was stuck in his throat.

“I want a club that’s dedicated to cleaning up the campus, and helping people that…” she stopped, a confused look washed over her. “You know when people… stop?” she said. “But before that happens, before they can stop.”

“Uh huh…” the SRR representative said. “Where does the money come in?”

“Wouldn’t more people want a cleaner school?” she said. “One with less stopping, and more going?”

“There is no money in that.” he said, his tone was sharp, and sounded betrayed. “What other school is there to attend?” he said. “This is the school for getting ahead, don’t you know? What you’ve described is a resource sink.” he emphasised. “People are fine as is.”

“But it would be a club. Like volunteer–”

“It doesn’t matter. You see I would be in charge of coordinating where the…” he paused moment “...‘stopped’, as you call them, go and who else comes to get them, and– you see how this puts stress on the school? For something that nobody is even bo–”

“It bothers me.” Amelia said, and that popping sound could be heard again, this time loud. The man looked across the desk at her, and then snapped his fingers. The teachers rose from underneath his desk, their mouths wet, drool dripping from their lips, one fastened the rim of the felt robe to keep their breast inside; the cloth hanging so loose that one could catch glimpses, through the folds, of where their flesh adjoined one another like sinew. For the first time in Amelia’s life, the teachers faces were glum, as if all authority had been sapped from them. A couple sat on the desk, resting their legs and feet on the SRR representative’s lap, some dared to make eye contact with Amelia, but the others couldn’t, and looked at the floor, or their exposed legs.

The SRR representative spoke: “I believe this has turned into an impromptu scheduling change.” the man said, looking at the teachers. “Could you bring me Amelia’s file?” he asked, and they stretched around the desk, limbs twisting, fingers gently riding along the spines of the folders and books along the desk. “This one”, one of the teachers said, and they placed it in front of the SRR representative. He opened it, grabbed a pen, wrote something down, and then drew the sheet to show it to Amelia. The sheet was her transcript, and under her name it said:

DEGREE: TEMPORARY CERTIFICATE IN LINE PLACEMENT SPECIALISATION…” and in pen next to it, it now said “WITH A MINOR IN BEING SENSITIVE.” When Amelia looked up from the paper, the SRR representative chuckled, and turned to the teachers. “Make sure she gets put in some special classes, will ya?” They looked at Amelia, and then back at him, and nodded in agreement. “Club proposal denied, if that needed clarification. Get out my office.”

When Amelia got back to her room, she felt numb, and then on fire. Navigating to her transcript on the program viewer she could see that it really was updated. “With a minor in being sensitive.” Her schedule also changed. An extra class was added that was simply called “Sensitivity Training.” It was held in an old classroom, away from the other students, with a look akin to the SRR office’s wood panelling. There was no screen at the front of the class, only a turquoise chalk board. When the time came for this class to commence, Amelia was the only one in the large room, aside from the teachers.

“So what have you got planned.” Amelia asked, her voice annoyed and impatient.

“Explore your sensitivity, and maybe try to alleviate it a b–”

“Don’t you work for the students?” Amelia asked. “And I don’t mean employed, I mean don’t you wor–”
“Don’t you tell me what we do and don’t do.” the teachers snapped, and Amelia jumped in her chair. “Nobody knows what this role entails more than us, what’s demanded, more than us.” they said.

“You don’t sound very happy to be here.” Amelia said.

“You don’t know what happiness is.” they replied. “You’ve felt it, yes, but you don’t know what it’s worth.” They continued, before sitting down on a small desk by the chalkboard. “It is exchanged, purchased, stolen, granted. You are a child, and a student, here to learn.” they said. “Happiness is a currency girl. And when you grow up, you’ll learn just how much you have, and how much you’re willing to part with to get what you need..” Amelia sat there and said nothing, the two stared at one another for a bit.

“I never want to be like you.” she said finally. The teachers glared at her, and for the first time their faces were angry.

“Leave.” they ordered.

“Gladly.” Amelia said, grabbing her backpack, hitting the door with her side, and striding into the highway.

Amelia spent the next few days in her room covered in blankets, watching the program viewer, and eating “Flakes With Oat Clusters” her pink and baby blue bulbs glowing above her. On the screen, people raked fields over and over again their eyes, shooting anything that moved. She changed it with the nodule, and the screen switched to a man crawling through tunnels, looking like he hadn’t eaten in days. He had one hand gripping a lighter, and the other on a small chrome handgun. At the bottom of the screen it said “Only Showing the Classics.” in a fancy gilded font, while on screen the man was using the chrome handgun to shoot an unaware man in some dimly lit chamber the tunnel held. In the center of the room was a map table with another man, who looked different than the one with the lighter and the gun. The camera ducked for a moment as the man by the map opened fire, but when it refocused, the man with the lighter was using some sort of compass-like utensil to stab the other man. The soldier with the lighter and the bloody compass then turned to the camera, and nodded. The program then faded to black, and the words “He showed them yellows what for!” appeared in gold, vibrating slightly the way old films did, before fading to black.

When Amelia finally decided to go back to school, she found that the others students, who typically were completely engrossed in their lives, looked at her every once in a while. Like the couple that was in the library they stared over each others shoulders or around corners once in a while. This was surprising to her, until she saw some of the new posters that were added around the school. “New Major has been added: Sensitive, sign up below.”, and underneath that was her name. “Amelia Furgeson.” Nobody else had their name signed.

“What the fuck is your problem.” Amelia said, the next time she had sensitivity class with the teachers.

“I could have you expelled for saying that.” they said.

“Is your plan just to humi-”

“It wasn’t our idea.” they said. The teachers all took in a deep breath, together.

“Why is it such an issue.” Amelia asked, genuinely.

“They just want to prepare you, for what comes next.”

“You just want more mon–”

“Silence!” the teachers screamed, a few hit the desk. “You haven’t been out there. We have. You don’t know how it is past these walls. How much you can lose out there if you march out of here with that kind of hubris.

Amelia said nothing, chin pointed toward the floor, brows furled, looking at the teachers.

“Do you want to starve, Amelia?” they asked.

“Don’t you have a cock to spotclean?” She asked, and left before the teachers could see the tears crawl out onto her face.

In the days after, Amelia would hear remarks made about her and ‘those kind of people’ who were ‘too sensitive.’ After this Amelia stopped going to school, opting instead to stay in her room, only leaving to procure food, or visit Kevin’s grave. The grave she built for him stood undisturbed, and she came by to adorn it every once in a while with origami, which turned to a staining colourful mush whenever it rained. Amelia changed the colour of the paper gradually, so that the grave changed colour. One day while visiting the site, she noticed another student standing and looking at it. She approached, and laid some flowers and other paper. “What is this?”, the student, a broad shouldered man in a tanktop and running shorts asked.

“A marker.” she said. “To show that I remember someone no longer here.”

“Huh.” he said, taking a swig out of a large translucent green bottle with a top that pushed in and lines around the bottle that labelled the hours of the day. “I’m just waiting for my running partner.” he said.

“That’s okay.” She replied. “I’m Amelia.”

The man took another swig out of his drink. “That checks out.”

“How?”

“Because this...” he said, pointing toward the marker “...is something a sensitive person would do.” Amelia’s mouth opened slightly, and from the distance, she could see someone in the distance running toward them. “You’ll never get ahead.” he said. “If you’re worried about bringing others down, you’ll never get ahead. Some people are born to slip through the cracks.” He spat on the ground a few feet away from the marker, and was off again; his lower legs looking like two rhombuses stuck together at the ends as he bounced from leg to leg into the distance. Amelia looked at the grave she built for Kevin, and her brows became heavy on her face. She breathed in through her mouth, and let it come back out, hissing through the gaps in her teeth as her eyes sunk into her head, and her face sank behind her bangs and deeper into her hair.

Amelia entered school the next day looking the same way, her skirt billowing, and her strides long. She wasn’t going to any class, she was going to the SRR representative’s office, or to the teachers, whichever she bumped into first. The hallways were a bit more clear as it seemed to be between classes for most. The teachers, Amelia presumed, were spread out thin over the whole school, which meant she’d be talking to the SRR man by herself. She was able to see the door to the SRR waiting room when the loud speakers turned on. Just the sound of it turning on was enough to cast the whole school into silence. Amelia stopped and looked around at the speakers, big, black, and looking like cowbells, which seemed to dot every single hallway

“A message to all students.” a male voice said. “Whoever is willing to stop Amelia Furgeson from attending school, permanently, will receive a guaranteed “SATISFACTORY” mark on any class of their choosing, limited one class per choosing. Thank you and have a nice day.” 

Everything went silent after the announcement, until almost at once all of doors began to swing open, and students began to enter the hallway. Others followed them to see what was about to go down. The students that first left the classrooms had looks about them. Like they hadn’t slept or eaten in years. They said nothing, and the school was silent save for the creaking of doors and the slow creep of footsteps as people slowly seeped out and began to look at her.

“I just want to go to SRR.” she said. “I don’t have business with any of you.” Nobody responded. The second wave of people, who came out to spectate, held their hands to their mouths, or covered their ears, as if anticipating shrieks. One of the students, a pale boy with dark sunken eyes, began to laugh as if his mind had abandoned him. A grin peeled onto his face before lurching at Amelia. Another man grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, lined him up, and punched his jaw out of alignment. All around her people began fighting. Grabbing each other, dragging each other, bouncing heads off of the shining tile floor.

Not knowing if any of those fighting were doing so to protect her, she randomly chose a hallway and darted through it. She ran, her hair trailing behind her, and her skirt pressing flat to her front as her sneakers squeaked on the floor. People were coming out of the classrooms, extending their arms and legs to block her way and grab her, forcing her to drop her knees to the floor and slide until doing so burned small shiny patches into her skin. She glanced behind herself every once in a while, when there were no classrooms for people to surprise her from, and as she did so she saw the crowd grow. Tripping each other. Trampling each other. And she noticed too, that at the front of them, was that runner that she saw at Kevin’s grave. His eyes were cold, and he was a good bit ahead of everyone else. 

She broke through the cafeteria, jumping on the benches and tables to get to the other side, and began making her way to the exit closest to Kevin’s grave. The sound of footsteps however grew lounder, until eventually she could hear the runner’s breathing. She heard a whooshing sound behind her, and when she heard it again fingers were tangling in her hair. With one pull the runner ripped her off her feet, and threw her to the ground, knocking the wind out of her. Tears began to form in her eyes and she reached into her hair, trying to unlock his fingers, all the while gasping for air. He punched her in the stomach, causing her to keel. He then kicked one of the lockers so hard it dented, allowing him to pry it open. He grabbed her head with one hand, and then placed her neck where the locker would swing close. He was about to kick it and her throat closed, but with a free hand she held the locker door open. He stomped on her wrist, picked her up by the hair and headbutt her. Blood came from her bangs and began to drip down her face onto her neck. The locker creaked open, and he headbutt her again so that she fell into it. She was sitting on the floor of the locker, her arms scraping against the sharp metal edges of the interior, when Amelia began to lean back, and lose conscious. She fell backward, too far for the confined storage space, until her legs fell back with her; the door slammed shut afterward. 

“What the fuck?” The runner cried, and when he swung it open again, it was empty. 

Amelia woke in complete darkness. Her body was sore all over. Her knees were scabbed, and the skin on the top of and back of her head was red. Her mouth was dry, and her lips were cracked, and when she arched her back upward, her legs stayed on the ground, and her head swayed.

“There there. It’s safe here.” a voice said, somewhere in the dark. It sounded congested and inhuman.“I won’t hurt you.” Amelia snapped upright, and then reached around to find a wall or something to support on. She grabbed the side of what appeared to be a dusty wooden desk, and tried pulling herself up with its assistance.

“Please don’t strain.” the voice said. “I think we should get to know each other” it said. Amelia’s hair was knotty, and falling in front of her face.

“No.” she said inside a pained exhale, hoisting herself to her feet.

“Who are you,” she ordered. “And where am I?” her voice was strained, her mouth filled with a mix of blood and saliva.

“You’re in the tunnels dear.” The voice replied. Amelia’s eyes could not adjust, as there was no light. “Some of the lockers up there, they aren’t to be used. They’re locked up tight, and only opened to get here. A bit of a secret, for those who aren’t privy.” Amelia gained balanced and stood on her two feet.

“I can’t see.” she said.

“I know.” the voice replied apologetically. “From the sounds of it, there should be a shelf, right next to you. Find light on it.” Amelia felt around on the wooden surfaces that she was grabbing, and reached into one of the boxes. It was a flare, and she’d seen them on the program screen. She pulled the cap off, yanked the ball, and in waves the the light strengthened until she saw the corpse on the floor, helmet dangling off his head, just like those in the programs. To the left of them both, the room continued into blackness impervious to the flare’s glow.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a visitor.” the voice said. Amelia pointed the flare around the room. The walls were a grey concrete by the looks of it, and the shelf was draped in a thin layer of cobwebs.

“Must’ve been.” she said, looking at the corpse. How long have you been down here?” she asked.

“That’s not me.” the voice said. “Just an old friend, that is.” The arms of the corpse were outstretched as if the floor had turned into a liquid, swallowed the soldier, and then turned into a solid again. The few bits of skin on its face were dry and marbled, holding the jaw open wide.

“There you go. I feel you. Come closer.” the voice said. On the floor was a bag of the soldier’s things, and then next to it, was an old rifle.

“It is nice to meet you.” The voice said.

“You aren’t…” Amelia’s voice trailed.

“I am.” the armament said.

Amelia crouched down and looked at the rifle some more. A bowed box magazine protruded from the bottom, and its stock looked to be of solid wood.

“It’s been oh so long.” it said. “Since I’ve seen the surface.”

Amelia laughed. “I’m not sure you’d want to.”

“Girl please. This room may be very exciting now, but try sitting in here through the years like I’ve done and you’ll take anything over this.” The armament chuckled to itself. “I think I’d have rather been left in a bathroom. It said. “At least then I’d hear a little gossip, now and again.”

“You can’t move, can you?” Amelia asked.

“No.” the armament said definitively.. Amelia’s eyes wandered back toward the corpse. 

“I know I asked already, but what is this place?”

“A shelter. From the war.”

“What war?”

“One from long ago now, I suppose. Is it still going? Up there?”

“I don’t think so.” she said.

“Ah well, there’s always a new one to join if you’re looking.

“I’m sorry, but how did you get here?” Amelia asked.

“Because our purpose is everywhere.”

“Oh…” Amelia said, drifting into thought.

“Don’t you have a purpose too, girl?”

“Not really.” she said, a bit defeated. “I’ve been trying to become a line placement specialist, but I’ve been running into all sorts of p–”

“Is that what you’d call it?” it said.

“I…I think so. It’s something I used to do, I don’t remember what me and mom used to call it though. Honestly that’s when things started to go down hill here, it feels like with every step I took–”

“People kept getting in your way.” Amelia’s face glowed at this.

“Yes!” she said, and her back piped up along with her voice. She sat with her legs curled to her side, and her hands balancing on her knees. “Oh my, I mean it’s been something these last couple weeks! It feels like no matter wherever I go, or whatever I try, something or someone–

“Wants to stop you.”

“Yeah…” she said. “Y’know, I’m glad you say that. I guess I’ve been…” She paused, straining to find words to express it. “Lacking in company, recently.” she said, her eyes drawing down.

“Aren’t you curious about my purpose.” the armament said.

“I know what you do.” she said.

“Oh you do now?” it asked.

“Yeah, you help fight the wars.”

“Oh I’m much more useful than that.” it said. “You see, I think I can help you.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. I’m assuming you can’t see them. Take that flare of yours and get a really good look of this room.” it said. Amelia stood up, grabbed the flare, and walked toward that part of the room that resisted the light.

“Yes, I believe that is right.” said the rifle as the sounds of Amelia’s sneakers got farther from it. “It’s somewhere over thataway.” As Amelia walked, the floor seemed to break and churn until eventually she was in a part of the room that was sand. Her first glimpse was that of a skull. Then another, until the bones mangled and grappled onto each other in a pile. Their fingers gripping into the sockets of their neighbours, their jaws tied open by spindling flesh. There was over three dozen of them, and they were of many different sizes. Tiny craters perforated the wall behind them, and like the soldier, these too were sinking into the sand.

“You see, I was made to stop people from stopping people.” the armament said, and Amelia spun around on her heel, and she was again next to the armament. The distance from it to the pile had been nearly nothing. She walked closer to the rifle so that she could again see it in its entirety.

“Can I tell you something?” the armament said.

“Sure.”

“They won’t let you.” Amelia swallowed. “They wouldn’t have put you here, if they wanted you to do what you wanted to do.” it said. “There will always be people who try to stop you, sweet girl. And there are many of them, it sounds, from where you are from.”

“I…” Amelia started, but then she looked at her hands. They were covered in dust and dirt and her own blood. Her knees were scabbed and translucent in places, and her skirt had ripped at the bottom and was climbing toward her waist. Tears began to well in her eyes, her cheeks softened, then tightened again, and then softened again, until her cheekbones rose to a precipice under her skin. Her brow curled again over her eyes. Her nose scrunched, and she took in a deep breath with her mouth. “...I hate them.” she finished.

“And they hate you.” the armament said.

“I hate them.” she repeated.

“They see you as an obstacle.”

“I want them gone.” she said. “If they won’t let me be, then I want them gone.” she said, dragging some words through sharp exhales.

“Then we should get out of here.” the armament said, and with that, Amelia picked them off the ground.

“You fell from behind. Use the shelf like a ladder.” it said. “And thank you. I’m honoured to be here with you”

When Amelia kicked open the locker from the inside and entered the hallway, she had to throw her arm over her eyes. The lights in the hallway were bright, and sterile, compared to the darkness of the war shelter. Underneath the locker was an array of flowers and origami, and other pieces of paper with marks on them. Amelia’s eyes never met these. She gripped the side of the locker, and stalked out, the rifle sticking out first; leaned on her shoulder and pointed to the ceiling. Where her shirt tucked into her skirt was lined with box magazines from the soldier’s bag. Another student was walking, absent-mindedly when she stopped a few paces away from Amelia. Her hair was blonde, and she had earbuds in. She wore a blue button up shirt under a skirt that looked only a shade lighter than Amelia’s. Amelia levelled the rifle, and with a single shot emptied the students brains into the hallway.

“Oh my…” the armament said.

Amelia wiped the dry blood that had incrusted around her mouth while the student’s body hit the floor, and twitched. “Being complacent doesn’t make you any less guilty.” Amelia said, her eyes just barely peeking through her hair; her face tightening. As Amelia walked by the corpse, whos head was nearly gone, she saw the blood pouring onto the tiles of the floor. Her eyes widened. “Oh, and how beautiful my lines are.”  she marvelled.

Someone rounded the corner, and let out a gasp, to which Amelia fired a round at them too. In a second the student seemed to make a popping sound and burst forth from the inside out into the hallway. Amelia shot them again, and again, until they’d nearly turned inside out, slumped against the wall. Blood bloomed up around the corpse, and Amelia was mesmerised at the way the different bones and matters speckled it.

 It was in between class times, and the hallways were almost deserted. Amelia made her way steadily to the SRR office. The armament’s shots rang out, and shells made light tinkling sounds as they bounced off the floor. Her strides in the hallway were long, and her eyes were sunken and imperceivable under her bangs. 

Until she saw him. Filling up his translucent green water bottle at a water fountain. Foam padded headphones resting gently over his ears, and tight shorts riding up his legs. She stopped, and he looked up from the fountain and at her. At first his eyes were blank, and his expression was that of boredom, but then he too saw her, his eyes widened. Amelia’s grin widened in return, sprawling up her face; her eyes just barely peeking from behind her bangs. She raised the armament and the runner dove. Amelia fired, and the bullet burrowed in his knee before expanding, twisting his leg until it hung by the skin. The runner boy screamed and stumbled towards the nearest door, and burst through it. Amelia was walking leisurely behind him, smiling all the way, the armament leaning against her shoulder. 

The room he had entered was The Library, and the door was slowly coming to a close when Amelia let the armament chew a few rounds through the door, splintering it. With a kick the door half collapsed into The Library, which was completely dark, a single golden stream of light beamed through the doorway and onto the floor. Inside this light the runner boy was lying on the floor, his other foot twisting nearly off. He breathed as if he was drowning, catching glimpses of air between swallows of water. With one hand Amelia pressed the mag release, and with a flick of her wrist the magazine slid out onto the floor. She put a new magazine from her belt in, and a little lever popped up in approval. She slapped it back down.

“Oh… you’ve seen this before.” The armament said.

“I have.” she replied. The boy on the floor groaned, and had turned around and begun grasping away from her, dragging himself by only the length of a finger nail each time. She kicked him in his ribs, and all of the air escaped him as he turned back over. He looked at her for a moment, and his eyes were swollen and filled with tears which streamed down to his jaw. He attempted to say something, but it came out only as a whimper.

“Some of us really do slip, don’t we?” she said, and put one foot on his ribs, and pressed into them until they began to bend and pop, and the moment he opened his mouth she put the rifle inside, and fired. The bullet snapped, wedging his mouth open so wide that it split his skull horizontally, sending the section with his hair, eyes, and upper mouth sliding and spinning across the floor in a trail of blood. His lower jaw sat atop his neck, teeth exposed to the open air. He gurlgled as he fell back, making a wet slapping sound when he hit the floor.

“That one was personal.” the armament said. The smile had vanished off of Amelia’s face at some point during this. Only her eyes remained, unblinking, broken by the locks in her hair.

“It was.” she stated bluntly, and turned to leave the library when she heard a popping sound. And then after, a sucking sound. She stood still in her tracks, her back straightening, and her mouth sunk and straightened into a grimace. She made her way deeper into the library. She held the armament loosely in front of her, it’s butt tucked into her arm. The sounds grew louder as she approached the source of the sound. Her breathing steadily betrayed her anger the closer she came to where she found Kevin. When she reached that dark corner of the library, she discovered that it was the couple again, in the same spot atop one of the desks. The boy was leaned over the girl, kissing her, one hand intertwined in her hair, the other moved rhythmically in her skirt. The girl was covered completely in elliptical bruises, and she had lost significant weight. Dark circles under had formed under her eyes. The girl saw Amelia immediately, and their eyes locked to each other while the boy sucked on the girl. She looked terrified, just like she did before. The girl went to raise a frail limb, like she did last time, but couldn’t. When the boyfriend realised that he was providing more attention than she was, he turned to Amelia, and uttered 

“Do you mind?”

Amelia didn’t bother to aim the rifle, and simply pointed it in his general direction. After a few rounds he was propped up against the wall, his skin splitting like tree bark and his blood dripping down like sap. His capillaries and nerves climbed up and up the wall, branching about like mycelia. The girl squeezed herself as much as she could into the corner, one hand overlaid on her mouth, the other adjusting her underwear. Amelia glared at her, and soon their eyes met. When the girlfriend removed her hand from her mouth, her lips quivered slightly. Amelia kept the rifle trained on the girl, whose arms and legs were spotted in purple. The girl said nothing, only sitting and breathing, shakily. The two sat like this for a moment, staring at each other, until Amelia motioned to the door with her gun.

“Leave.” Amelia commanded aloud, but the girl didn’t move. “If I have to tell you one more time you’ll look like him.” Amelia continued, motioning to the boyfriend whose flesh was still growing up the side of the wall. The girl slid off the desk, and clinging herself, walked toward the light of the exit. For a moment the room went nearly completely dark as the girlfriend stepped through the door, eclipsing the light.

“If I may, why exactly, did you do that?” the armament asked, its voice held a tinge of annoyance. Amelia pressed the rifle close to her chest.

“Because she’ll be another stain in the hallway soon enough. I don’t want to take all of the credit away from this place.” she said, and they began to walk toward the entrance of The Library again, when a deep blue smoke began to creep from the lit hallway. At first it crawled along the ground, but soon it rose, until the light of the hallway was smothered completely, and The Library was cast into darkness. Amelia stood motionless, unable to see anything at all.

“What’s happening?” she whispered. 

“It has been fun.” the armament said, whispering also.

“What?” Amelia responded, and four quick bursts pierced though her as flashes strobed in the dark recesses between the bookshelves. Amelia hit the floor, and was motionless. Two men emerged from the darkness with their own armaments, but these were shorter, slung, and canned at the end. They wore black nylon pants, and chest rigs. Their faces were obscured by black scarves that clung to their faces, leaving only small holes under their nose to breath. Their helmets resemble the ones in the basement. The two approached Amelia, their rifles trained on her. One of them shot another burst, and then another. Amelia did not move. Blood began to pool underneath her. One of them went over to the armament, and knelt next to it. “Held up under pressure.” he said, nonchalantly to his partner.

“How many total?”, the other asked.

“Nothing much. In line with the average.”

“Alright.” the one closest to Amelia’s body replied, before he began untucking the many shirts he was wearing out of his pants. “Alright, well pack it up while I get my perks in.” he said, unbuttoning his pants. The one kneeling by the armament sighed, and picked it up while his partner pulled his throbbing cock out and began playing with the underwear under Amelia’s skirt. He shimmied them down her legs, and hung them around her foot. He pulled Amelia closer, and was about to scavenge whatever happiness he could find when a voice spoke behind him.

“I know your type is used to doing whatever you want, when you are let free from public eyes...” The many teachers spoke in a disjointed chorus. “But I should inform you that this is indeed a school.” The soldiers turned, and the teachers loomed over them, their robes hanging loosely over their their bones.

“B–” one attempted to reply.

“Behave like the good little lapdogs you are, and leave!” their voices came seemingly from no mouth, but boomed until their gray robes billowed. The one dropped the rifle and ran, and the other stumbled after him, pants still clinging around his ankles.

The teachers knelt down beside Amelia, and with their many arms they lifted up her corpse, and cradled her. The armament laughed a long winded laugh, and wheezed as if it too had to breath.

“I don’t want to hear it now.” the teachers said, looking at Amelia’s face. Her eyes were open, and the teachers closed them.

“Oh how defeated you must feel. And rightfully so.” the armament chided.

“Silence!” The teachers snapped, and their eyes were sullen, wet, and slowly slanting angrily until all were trained on the rifle. “I will destroy you.” They said.

“No you won’t.” the armament said, plainly. “You see, it’s me that gives them what they want, not you. I give them agency. I give their lives meaning. You lead them like lambs to slaughter. I bestow them finality. Through me they make history.” 

The teachers grew, and their bones tugged until the fibres of their robe began to pop and snap under pressure. They looked down at Amelia, and embraced them, and then looked back at the rifle.

“Your undoing will be your nearsightedness.” The teachers said, standing at once, Amelia cradled in their arms, and the tears from their many faces made the sound of rain as they fell to the floor. “They will learn.” The teachers said, their many faces contorted into an audience of fury. “And you will become obsolete.”

“We’ll just have to see.” the armament said, and as if the floor were liquid, the rifle sunk below its rippling surface into the desolate chambers below.