Don't Fear The Reaper

{ii. the darkness of the heart}

❝If life must not be taken too seriously, then so neither must death.❞

-Samuel Butler

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The halls of Ashdown High are dim and weak, the wallpaper all peeling, the lockers rusting, the floor chipping. They haven't renovated this place since the 70s, unless you count the addition of the weight room. The lights flicker as kids yell and laugh and blow out vape, too concerned with themselves to care about their surroundings. As I walk down the hallway to my first class of the second day, I feel less like a depressed, teenage student and more like an inmate walking to the electric chair.

Before, these hallways were lively. Will would always give me a ride, and everyone would greet us with a smile or a wave or a, "Yo, what's up?!". Sun would shine in through the dusty windows, and on the quad, cool breezes would chase the autumn leaves in an eternal game of cat-and-mouse.

Now, nobody even meets my eye. The wind has gone from slight breezes to full gusts. The sun hasn't come out since the storm the afternoon previous.

After the events of yesterday, I feel a bit shaken and a bit feverish. Mor hasn't appeared again, which leads the hopeful side of me to believe that it was all just a weird hallucination. But maybe he just only appears in darkness. Maybe he's nocturnal, like a vampire!

He's not a vampire, I tell myself, shaking my mind out of its Irrational Idea Time state. People are staring at you. Stop reacting to your own thoughts so obviously.

I pass the trophy case, where the team's 3 state championship trophies stand proudly. The team was a mess when I was in junior high, but once my grade came up, they became the idol of the town. Something about the boys in my grade made the team state champs thrice, and I can't help but feel Will had that "something" in the strongest concentration.

I don't glance at the trophies, not even once. I keep my eyes locked ahead.

"Lila!" A voice exclaims from behind me, sweet and mellifluous. "Hey, Lila, wait up!"

I whirl and see my only true remaining friend, Macy DiMaggio, running from where she was talking to Coach Wycliffe at the gym doors to catch up with me.

"Hey, Macy," I say, trying to sound happy. I'd read somewhere that if you sound negative, people are less likely to continue to hang out with you. So happy I will sound.

"Hey." She brushes a strand of straightened dark hair behind her ear. "Sorry I didn't catch you yesterday before class. We had an emergency cheer meeting."

"It's fine," I answer. "What was the emergency?"

It's a risky thing to ask. If you ask Macy about either of her favorite things - painting and cheer - she may never shut up about it again. But I'm trying to be polite.

"Oh, well..." she grimaces, as if she doesn't want to tell me. "Um, the school board decided that they're changing their tracks and sending more funds to the Athletic department, so we'll finally be able to get new uniforms!"

"Changing their tracks?" I ask hesitantly. "Where were the funds originally going to go?"

"Uh... the music department. Which they're actually... cutting... almost completely..."