Fiction Club Vol 1.

bathroom

noun: bathroom

Definition: A room containing a bath or shower and typically a washbasin and toilet.

Gates Definition: A temple of meditation, safety and comfort.

~~~

As I step into the halls of Black Hills High I start a small list in my mind of all the things I didn't miss about school. First and foremost on that list is the fact that I have to be there in the first place. If I had access to a time machine then my primary action would be to go back and hunt down the man who came up with the concept of mandatory schooling and give him a slow and painful death. Whoever he was he is probably responsible for more suffering than Genghis Kahn.

The second on the list would be the sheer number of people I am forced to interact with. I am certain that I'm the only one who actually makes any attempt to look where they're going in the halls. Even with my reflexes I feel like a well-dressed pinball.

Third is the constant noise. Endless amounts of inane chatter catapulted across corridors like lacrosse balls; all of it unintelligible and often mixed with horrendous pulsating music emitted from smart phones which I'm fairly certain violates some kind of international convention on cruelty.

Fourth on my list is my locker. No real reason. I just hate it. It's just like every other locker in this school. In fact that's probably why I hate it so much. It doesn't stand out. I constantly have to hunt for the damn thing, so generic a locker it is. It seems to jump around as though the rows of lockers themselves are procedurally generated. When I open it up I find what is probably the very things everyone else has in their lockers. Notepads, textbooks, the decades old crusted over sneeze residue of the dozens of other people who used this locker in the past. There's simply nothing to like about it and is therefore worthy only of my contempt.

Gathering the books for the morning's classes into my bag I feel a jabbing sensation on the top of my right shoulder. When I turn around I am greeted with the fifth thing on my list.

Two of the hall monitors appointed by our great and benevolent Student Council stand in front of me. Both are female - as are all of Black Hill's hall monitors - and sport perpetually menacing glares which are taught to each new recruit on day one of hall monitor training. They stand out from the other students in their dark red blazers and pitch black skirts; the upside being that you can usually see them coming from a mile away. Assuming they don't just sneak up on you of course.

They wait in silence as if I'm supposed to automatically understand their intentions. I try to avoid making eye contact. Hall monitors are like feral dogs. Keep your distance and don't get into a staring match. You should be fine.

"Can I help?" I say, trying to sound as neutral as possible.

"Locker inspection," says the one on my left, the one who tapped my shoulder, "Step aside."

I do so. I watch as she rummages around in my profoundly generic locker. It doesn't take her long to find that she's wasted her time. Curious, I decide to inquire as to the reason.

"Random check. Your name was pulled out of a hat," says the monitor as she practically envelopes her head in the homogeneous steel box. I silently hope she catches some rare disease from the ancient mucous particles that cake the walls.

"Must have been a big hat," I reply dryly. The girl extracts her head and glares at me. For a second I think I probably screwed up and I'm about to catch a detention sentence on my first day back. But the other girl redirects her attention elsewhere and eventually they wander off to randomly oppress someone else.