It was quiet. The dilapidated school hall sat empty where once, long ago, students would sit in neat rows according to year levels to listen to the principle and other school news. The life of this school, the students...they have long since fled or have been killed in what used to look like tragic accidents, now proven to be foretold prophecies. I used to attend this school. It was once filled with... an aura of warmth and life. Now, in amidst the darkness and the loneliness, the only sound that fills these gloomy corridors are the echoes of my footsteps as I meander through the corridors I once walked through without fear. It all seemed so long ago... in a time where I could laugh openly and pretend I don’t have to worry about anything at all.
I clutched my friend’s phone tightly in my hand, the shards of glass from its shattered touch screen pricked my finger but the pain is incomprehensible to the stabbing guilt that was gnawing at what little remained of my pride and sanity. Tiny beads of blood started to seep through the tiny prick in my finger so I stopped squeezing it and let it sit in my palm. I laugh silently to myself as I stare at the battered phone. It was this tiny, innocent device that started all this. All the trepidation, all the tears, the cries, the wounds, the pain...the deaths caused by this tiny, electronic device that’s now sitting in the palm of my hand is uncountable. Moments of joy, moments of sadness, moments of euphoria that broke to moments of the deepest despair and hopelessness, we used to battle through all of them together as a team.
Where is my team now? Where did everybody go? Did they leave me to rot in the darkness and the loneliness because I was one of the 4 people who started all this? Am I the one to blame for all this tragedy? Am I the one to be held accountable for all the deaths? Am I...a murderer? But who do you blame for the deaths? The gun or the person who used the gun to shoot the victim? I swear I didn’t mean to... I didn’t know about the consequences. I thought it was a joke.
I thought...it was a joke...
I sit down under a dying oak tree, its branches drooping and most of its leaves fell when the weak sea breeze blew in my face. Opening my backpack, I produce a tiny, silver harp which I sit on my knee. I play a morose chord, letting the sound reverberate off the stone walls of the school courtyard. It echoes into the distance as I add more chords, building up a sad, slow ballad-like lament. Beautiful, slow, lamenting... the harp’s voice filled the courtyard with the shadowy simulacrum of life and the lives that have past. Combined with the harp’s song, I open my mouth and started to sing. It was foreign at first, hearing the walls sing back to me using my own voice; a choir of ghosts to condemn the one who still lives.
They repeat to me, the story of this school. It’s once life filled halls turning to nothing but hollow shells of what they used to be. They tell me the story...they tell me the story of my battles and survival that came at a great cost... I stutter to a stop, my voice trembling too much to keep in tune. The harp’s voice reverberates sadly back to me as the choir of ghosts fade to silence and I’m alone again to do nothing but sob as quietly as I can.
My friend’s phone rings, breaking the silence with a discordant buzz. I pick up the phone tentatively and look at the video sent to me.
“No...not another one...” I whisper hoarsely as I play the video.
Trains passed by with their idiosyncratic roar which was soon followed by a gust of cold wind, sending leaves, stray papers and empty plastic wrappers down the platform which occasionally got caught in the legs of the workers dressed in suits, trying to push their way into the heated train. Watching, waiting and seemingly out of place was a girl wearing a light, sky blue hooded jacket with loose black tracksuit pants. Her straight, night black hair tumbled carelessly down her shoulders in a wind beaten mass that had been held back off her face by a simple, rolled up blue bandana. On her right arm was a peculiar woollen sleeve coloured black with three blood red strips that made it look like something large and animalistic had slashed her arm. She hummed along to the tune being played through her white headphones, ignoring the bemused or scorning glances from the workers around her. 'Shouldn't you be at school?' their eyes asked her. She smirks, slightly amused at their antics. She doesn’t care about school! The last place she wants to be is in school, that place where they brainwash its students into being law abiding citizens, citizens that lose their free will for their benefactors.
She smiles, changing the song with a mere flick of her wrist to a lighter song. Slowly, her expression changed from an amused look to a look of sadness. She used to sing this song to someone special. That someone special was someone I once knew... a long time ago. She catches me staring and her eyes met mine before she fleas into the crowd then she vanished from sight. I guess she still blames for what happened to her little brother. I can't say I wouldn't do the same. I chose to save myself...all for what? A stabbing guilt now that I look at her. I could have saved him and myself... but I was so stupid and reckless... ignorant and arrogant. I shouldn't have let this happen...
Slowly with the grind of metal on metal, the train accelerated out of the station leaving me alone with nothing more than distant echo of grinding metal, hissing steam and the crunch of rubbish from the opposite platform. The wind whistled as it passed through the station, dumping stray leaves from the streets onto the platform which rustled as the breeze picked them up again and lifted them to the sky. I watch, reflecting on that incident that cost that girl her little brother. He liked autumn. He liked the cool breeze and the gold-red leaves. I listened closely to the rumble of the trains passing, the wind whistling... the stomping of feet.
I only wish I could have said the right words... done the right thing... even if it meant I lost my own life. Now this requiem reminds me of those things...
That’s why I hate my job. I suppose things could be worse right?
Trains passed by with their idiosyncratic roar which was soon followed by a gust of cold wind, sending leaves, stray papers and empty plastic wrappers down the platform which occasionally got caught in the legs of the workers dressed in suits, trying to push their way into the heated train. Watching, waiting and seemingly out of place was a girl wearing a light, sky blue hooded jacket with loose black tracksuit pants. Her straight, night black hair tumbled carelessly down her shoulders in a wind beaten mass that had been held back off her face by a simple, rolled up blue bandana. On her right arm was a peculiar woollen sleeve coloured black with three blood red strips that made it look like something large and animalistic had slashed her arm. She hummed along to the tune being played through her white headphones, ignoring the bemused or scorning glances from the workers around her.
Why is there a random girl at a trainstation? What relevance does it have to this blog?
I DON'T KNOW BUT READ ON IN THE PROLOGUE - A Trainstation's Requiem
(when I actually finish it ._. )
Contains gore, self inflicted harm and Llamas.
I take no liability for ANY injury, both mental and physical that may occur by reading this.
This is my first post here so I think it's best I introduce myself.
My name's Sentinel and I'm an orphaned griffin. I recently settled down in the Forbidden Forest since my previous home was burnt down by a couple of scared teenagers trying to be brave. I've lived in many places in all 7 continents but I find them all too... crowded with fearful magic-less humans. At least with witches and wizards around, I don't have to worry about having my home destroyed in a fit of rage and fear.
I was named Sentinel in honour of what human legend considered our kind to be, a 'protector from evil'. I was raised by a small boy who used to play in the fields since my parents were killed by some 'monster hunters'. I don't remember much about my parents, I only found out that they were killed by some magic-less humans who blamed them for the death of their sheep after the boy who raised me was sent off to war. But it's not all doom and gloom as he always said, I made sure he was still alive... maybe I'll indulge you with a few tales from the war....maybe.
You might see me again but I've got to return to my nest before some foolish centaur tramples it or something like that.
Stay ever vigilant!