Every Day

It has to be a trick, I repeated to myself.
This horrifying place in front of my eyes could not be real. These war-damaged halls were in my head; the remnants of battle were imaginary. The blinding sound of enraged cries echo in my ears. Thousands of other people surround me and the heat rises to the top, not able to escape. The roof covers my head, enclosing pressure on my body. I can smell ash dusting the air.
I march on, my feet moving one after another in fluid motion. Nonstop. Every turn I make leads to another hall. Rooms just lead me to more frustrated anguish. It’s like a twisted labyrinth and I am a tiny mouse. The brass sounds of people screaming fill my mind. They rush by, stomping forward, and I am lost in the crowd. I feel myself growing restless, yearning for freedom from this wretched establishment. I cower to my feet, curling myself into an indestructible ball.
I wonder how everyone else can simply move on, impenetrably. What is the secret that makes them so infinite? Every single motion affects me. The sight of a single fallen soldier sends me spiraling into endless bewilderment. My backpack rests heavily on my shoulder like I am carrying bricks, yet everyone else walks effortlessly. Oh, how I will always dread these disgusting days of high school.