The Warzone
The Warzone
Eerily, rays of light begin to flow through the windows, illuminating the close tables and floor. The air is frigid and crisp. This early, there are few scents remaining; all that is left, is from from the previous days battles. The frozen air is empty. Silence has fallen upon the desolate opening.
Eventually, the outside doors begin to open and shut. Lunch ladies rushing in, preparing themselves and their positions. As they initiate their daily duties, scents fill the air. The abnormal aromas of new refreshments and nutritional slops. The bizarre incenses and stingy tastes flow freely throughout the surrounding area. The war is about to begin.
In the far distance, from the outside world, one can hear the deafening squeals of menacing tires and the ferocious roars of massive vehicles. Soldiers pile through the doors, single file, yet separated into their own squads and platoons. Old friends are united once again, preparing for the charge. Dramatically, the warzone’s sound level increases, as the soldiers shout their battle cries and begin to confront their enemies. Soon enough, the squads are all set out on their own missions some, confronting and pushing their weaker adversaries; while others, charge the counters, ravaging the shelves and gathering their rations; finally, multitudes rejoice and join forces with their allies, all at their specific tables. The offset scents of the food are all but drowned out by body odours, colognes and perfumes. The air is humid now moist and unpleasant.
After time has passed and every soldier has arrived at their destination, many begin to retreat to the halls. Continuing to attack each other, while determined to make it to their lockers to restock. Many others still remain those whose battles will not end, until the second period’s siren raids their eardrums. Within the battlefield, the chaotic noises are all but dying down now, as not to disturb the