After Hours

I placed the refilled markers on the teacher’s table in the last classroom. With a sigh of relief, I swept my backpack off the floor and sauntered out of the classroom, massaging a crick in my neck. My clothes were drenched with sweat while one bead of perspiration rolled down my forehead and into my eye. It stung like the time I used rubbing alcohol to clean a cut. 

The reason I was still in school on a late summer afternoon was because of a witty insult aimed at the rival team after we lost the match in the morning. Their coach overheard and made a mountain out of a molehill, demanding punishment for unsportsmanlike behaviour. As a result, I was told to prepare all twenty classrooms for tomorrow. 

I did not realize that we had pushed the desks to create a more comfortable seating arrangement throughout the day, simply used to seeing them arranged neatly the next day. 

   

By the time I was done, there was not a soul in sight in the enormous building. The school seemed to be bigger without the usual pandemonium of students sauntering across the hallways. It was unnaturally quiet, a steady silence that seeped into my bones. As I walked, my amplified footsteps mournfully echoed throughout. 

The empty school fascinated me. I had never before noticed the geometric pattern on the tiles - four sable-coloured interlinked circles against a cream background. The periwinkle blue paint was bubbling off the walls. There were no teammates, jokes, or ringing bells to draw my attention away from the school itself. 

   

I reached the grounds, appreciating the large lawn for the first time instead of grumbling about its ill-groomed state. It was a short trudge to the gate, but the security guard’s annoying glare and the summer sun’s powerful shine stretched the distance to a mile. 

   

The gate itself was as high as a one-story house and fashioned into simple intersecting bars from wrought iron. Despite the guardhouse being located mere feet from the gate, the guard took well over ten minutes to amble towards the gate and fiddle with the bronze lock for five more before pushing it open with a creak. He was probably exacting revenge for my keeping him at his job longer than usual. 

   

As I stepped out of the gate, I turned around for a last look at the sprawling building. It looked incomparably lonely.