Some one pulled me from my chair and started running at the door. This all seemed wrong, something wasn’t right. Why were we going to the locked door? We were trapped, so why were we running to the bait?
“No!” I said, pulling my arm away from my friend. “No! Angie No!” I screamed.
She looked at me with shock, she didn’t understand, she was scared. Our friends, our good friends, stopped for us. They looked around, watched the floor, flinched if anything touched them.
“We have to go!” Angie yelled, “Did you not see what it did to her?”
“I looked away,” I confessed, “But that’s not the point. We have to get out and out is not that way!”
We looked at the doors, at all the people banging on them, trying to get out. We listened to the screaming, someone was dying, that’s the only time someone can make that sound.
Someone grabbed me, took me by the elbow and drug me. We were running back stage. A small group of kids were already there, stacking gym equipment and props to reach the ceiling. They were taking out the tiles and climbing up and out to safety, or so we thought.
We joined the line, still overhearing the shrieks and screams from the auditorium. People, kids, were dying. They were screaming out in their final moments, some called for their moms or dad, boyfriends or girlfriends, siblings. Some called to God. And as I stood in line, waiting my turn to climb, my faith was strengthened rather than destroyed. I was waiting my turn to escape, I was escaping. God had looked down favorably on me, and I felt a little better. Until I heard my name in the mass of screams.
Who had I left? Who was not by my side? Or had they found us?
People climbed faster. We’d been found. I reached the bottom of the stack. My hands met with cold metal. I climbed, not looking down. That voice rang in my ears. They called for me. But I couldn’t answer. I was climbing, climbing, climbing. Safe.
There were people in front of me, crawling through the dark. Our quick breaths were echoing off the tubes in the ceiling. Something bumped my shoes. I shrieked. But it was only another escapee. So I hadn’t been the last one through.
We crawled for what seemed like forever, deeper and deeper into the darkness. Time started to stand still, the screams were dying down. They would be looking for us soon with no one else to distract them, no one else to kill. We were silent, moving softly and slowly, we trudged on. There was no hope of survival, only that we would make it throught the first wave of attack.
Someone farther ahead screamed. My heart seemed to stop in my chest. A light apeared up ahead of me. The scream stopped. Another person let out a cry of fright.
The was coming closer. More screams. They kept coming. The light was closer now. It was a hole in the tiles. They found us.
The person in front of me screamed as the tile beneath them gave out. I tried to back up but there was someone behind me. They wouldn’t back up, I was stuck. Underneath me, the tiles were giving way. I was falling.
The floor was hard when I hit it. Something in me cracked. Fear was ripping through me like lightning. I was frantically trying to get up, trying to move, trying to see through the pain, trying to do anything but lay there! I felt like a lamb at the slaughter. There was nothing I could do but try and trying was getting me no where.
Warm hands grabed me, pulled me up. Everything looked fuzzy, blurry, a swirl of colors until the black bag came down over my head.
Based on a very elaborate dream I had in which I was a student in this high school. The story goes on to tell how myself and a small group of friends survived the initial wave of attack only to be locked in something similar to a concentration camp where the people around us were slowly being killed off.