Lost Lockers

She had a recurring dream, ever since that day, where she couldn’t find her locker. She would search and search between classes, but she couldn’t find it and then she wouldn’t know where her next class was and she couldn’t get to her things. Sometimes in the dream she found her locker, but then couldn’t remember the combination. She would wake up every time in a cold sweat, unable to get back to sleep. Even after all these years.

She knew it was because of the shooting back when she was a student at Walton High. When the first sound of that machine gun reverberated around the halls and everyone was running and screaming, and falling, she crammed herself into one of the spare lockers and prayed she wouldn’t be found. But she was.

She doesn’t know if she made a sound, or if he heard her whimper, but he found her. To this day she doesn’t understand why she was one of the chosen ones. He opened the door and pointed the gun right at her, his dark hair falling over his eyes. Then he blinked, turned away, and carried on.

Her family moved shortly after; they wanted to take her away, help her forget. But forget she couldn’t. She never had. Now she had returned twenty-five years later, an educator herself. Walking along the highly polished floor she could smell the years of dust and paper and students. And death. She could still smell the blood, feel the fear as everyone tried to save themselves.

She wanted to put the ghosts of the past behind her, to confront them, and as she walked up to the podium at the school assembly, their new principle, she silently vowed to protect and honour the school that now would save her.