High on Nostalgia

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Highschool was a terrible god forsaken place for most of us. Thirty years later, gym was still the worst.

Submitted: February 15, 2013

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Submitted: February 15, 2013




The school looked hollow when it was closed, vacant, and dead. Every movement, every footstep, seemed to echo through the halls so loud that she as sure that if there was anyone else in the school, though she didn't think there was, they would hear her breathing.

She advanced forward into the gymnasium. She faced the large wooden doors for some time before she even considered opening them. Even when she finally placed her cold fingers on the frigid metal handle she couldn't bring herself to open it for minutes.

She was afraid honestly; afraid of what lay behind the double doors, afraid of what she might feel because of it. God, she was scared stiff.

Finally, she decided to enter. She gave the door a single sharp shove and the air whooshed out of her chest almost in a stream. She slammed the door behind her and listened to the seemingly endless echo move through the halls.

The gym was completely empty. There were no squeaking tennis shoes; the buzzing of the air conditioner couldn't be heard. It was… unsettling to say the least.

She treaded carefully to the middle of the polished wood floor and for a minute she thought she could smell, hear, taste, feel everything. She imagined everyone perched in the bleachers, waiting and bloodthirsty. A herd of boys, sweaty and meaty, pranced throughout the gym while she stands screamed because 'cheer' isn't the right word. This was a call for blood.

She, oh so quiet, snapped a couple of pictures from behind the bleachers and pretended that she was part of the excitement.

She inhaled, she exhaled and she opened her eyes. Everything disappeared, like it was all a mirage, a trick of the light. She dragged a clammy palm against her forehead.

Thirty years is a long time.

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