Armageddon
______
A monotonic, electronic bell sounded and echoed through the halls of the high school, remaining strong for but a few seconds before it was suddenly cut off. Silence ensued for but a brief moment before the clatters and thumps of the hurrying students begin their first faint, yet progressing noises on the linoleum ground of the school. They rapidly grew louder until, in but an instant, students are able to be seen rushing down the hallways, yet having the flow slow down as we progress towards the back of the crowds.
We start in one specific classroom where the students are all rushing furiously to get their papers and utensils packed to bolt out the door, the teacher yelling out their homework assignments due next Monday over the clattering, loudly chatting people. One by one, students jump up and make their dash towards the classroom's door, the crowd of packing people beginning to disperse slowly, yet surely out to lunch hour. What seems to be the very last group of children stand and squeeze through the door, revealing the teacher, who sat at his desk filing and straightening papers.
But, as it truly was, the one previous group of people weren't the last to leave. And this is where our story begins.
A young woman - petite, no doubt - was still organizing her utensils and packing her papers away neatly. This young woman looked fairly strange - some could say that she seemed to have a dark look about her. It wasn't an incorrect assumption. It was only fair for people to think that. Her pitch black, short-cur hair was kept fairly neat, her strange ruby eyes fixed onto her black messenger bag, a small puddle and outline of black surrounding these rubies of irises and making them appear somewhat hollow in their deep-set position, her pale lips set into a neutral line. Moving down, we see her exposed, slender neck ending as we meet the black, form-fitting camisole under a red-and-black flannel, oversized shirt remaining unbuttoned to reveal her slim form underneath. Two holes in the too-long sleeves of the shirt were occupied by her thumbs, her fingers sticking out from the sleeve itself, half covered. Ruby jeans fitting tightly to her legs were decorated with a series of rips and tears, ending tucked into her trust Dr. Martens combat boots of which seemed to become progressively more scuffed each passing day. Her sleek, black headphones were placed over equally dark hair, padded speakers over her ears and leaking out the heavy tempos and bass lines that currently blocked out any sound from her attention, the wire leading down her waist and slipping into her pocket to lead to her iPod.
After a minute or two of packing her various items of use, she heaved the messenger bag up onto her shoulder, her boots thumping against the rough carpet of the classroom as she began a slow, even stride towards the door. She was in no hurry to get anywhere at her current point in time, which meant that there was no need to be quickening her pace - she'd do what she always did at lunch times. Go to the cafeteria, find a desolate table, claim it as her own, and most likely take a nap for the majority of the time, or simply lose herself in her music while thinking about life and it's many mysteries. Sometimes a few very timid people who seemed to be roped into a similar label that she has been given - an 'outcast' - would ask if they could sit at her table as a last resort, and she would, of course, accept without much hesitation. She had no friends to hang with, nor nobody to speak with, so she'd be, as always, going through her daily much routine.
...Joy.
With a small sigh passing through her pale lips, she pushed the heavy classroom door open without a second glance back at the teacher and let it shut behind her with a click. The flow of students was fairly thick - not quite as thick as the first few minutes of lunch normally was, but reasonably heavy. Her expression wiped itself of any noticeable traces of emotion - excepting dismissiveness - and began her stride towards the cafeteria, her stare locking with the ground in front of her as she began passing each person chatting happily to others or walking in either directions. Each few seconds or so, she'd feel an obvious second glance shoot her way, but she would simply shrug it off, mostly because such behavior was common when she passed. They had reason to - she was some strangely dark, not to mention small, girl. She was different, and not exactly in the best way, as far as these teenagers' standards went.
She continued to walk, uncaring to the stares that would briefly fall on her every few moments or so.
We start in one specific classroom where the students are all rushing furiously to get their papers and utensils packed to bolt out the door, the teacher yelling out their homework assignments due next Monday over the clattering, loudly chatting people. One by one, students jump up and make their dash towards the classroom's door, the crowd of packing people beginning to disperse slowly, yet surely out to lunch hour. What seems to be the very last group of children stand and squeeze through the door, revealing the teacher, who sat at his desk filing and straightening papers.
But, as it truly was, the one previous group of people weren't the last to leave. And this is where our story begins.
A young woman - petite, no doubt - was still organizing her utensils and packing her papers away neatly. This young woman looked fairly strange - some could say that she seemed to have a dark look about her. It wasn't an incorrect assumption. It was only fair for people to think that. Her pitch black, short-cur hair was kept fairly neat, her strange ruby eyes fixed onto her black messenger bag, a small puddle and outline of black surrounding these rubies of irises and making them appear somewhat hollow in their deep-set position, her pale lips set into a neutral line. Moving down, we see her exposed, slender neck ending as we meet the black, form-fitting camisole under a red-and-black flannel, oversized shirt remaining unbuttoned to reveal her slim form underneath. Two holes in the too-long sleeves of the shirt were occupied by her thumbs, her fingers sticking out from the sleeve itself, half covered. Ruby jeans fitting tightly to her legs were decorated with a series of rips and tears, ending tucked into her trust Dr. Martens combat boots of which seemed to become progressively more scuffed each passing day. Her sleek, black headphones were placed over equally dark hair, padded speakers over her ears and leaking out the heavy tempos and bass lines that currently blocked out any sound from her attention, the wire leading down her waist and slipping into her pocket to lead to her iPod.
After a minute or two of packing her various items of use, she heaved the messenger bag up onto her shoulder, her boots thumping against the rough carpet of the classroom as she began a slow, even stride towards the door. She was in no hurry to get anywhere at her current point in time, which meant that there was no need to be quickening her pace - she'd do what she always did at lunch times. Go to the cafeteria, find a desolate table, claim it as her own, and most likely take a nap for the majority of the time, or simply lose herself in her music while thinking about life and it's many mysteries. Sometimes a few very timid people who seemed to be roped into a similar label that she has been given - an 'outcast' - would ask if they could sit at her table as a last resort, and she would, of course, accept without much hesitation. She had no friends to hang with, nor nobody to speak with, so she'd be, as always, going through her daily much routine.
...Joy.
With a small sigh passing through her pale lips, she pushed the heavy classroom door open without a second glance back at the teacher and let it shut behind her with a click. The flow of students was fairly thick - not quite as thick as the first few minutes of lunch normally was, but reasonably heavy. Her expression wiped itself of any noticeable traces of emotion - excepting dismissiveness - and began her stride towards the cafeteria, her stare locking with the ground in front of her as she began passing each person chatting happily to others or walking in either directions. Each few seconds or so, she'd feel an obvious second glance shoot her way, but she would simply shrug it off, mostly because such behavior was common when she passed. They had reason to - she was some strangely dark, not to mention small, girl. She was different, and not exactly in the best way, as far as these teenagers' standards went.
She continued to walk, uncaring to the stares that would briefly fall on her every few moments or so.
