The World Gone Quiet Monologue
The World Has Gone Quiet
My lungs fill with cool autumn air. Breathe in, breathe out. In, out. In, out. As I breathe, I begin to walk. My head doesn’t know what my destination is, but my legs carry me. Down the road, turn right onto Meridian Street. The only sound is the wind in the trees, my feet on the ground. My shoe scraping softly against the pavement. It’s quiet. Too quiet. Somewhere, I can hear a bird’s hushed call. It seems like that’s the only living thing out here. The town of Pittsboro, Indiana has always been a quaint little place, but never anything like this. No cars, no people. Just me and the air and the leaves on the ground. The elementary school, usually packed full with buses and cars and students, is abandoned. …show more content…
The ghost of a day, once bright and lively, has been replaced with an empty shell of concrete and glass. Where have all the children gone? A swing on the playground lazily sways back and forth, carrying a thousand memories of sunny days and laughter. The swing taunts me, free to move but still chained to this playground. Does this place know that it’s empty? Do the spirits here carry on? Do they know something is wrong? One of the doors is slightly ajar. I walk inside, stare at the walls decorated with finger paintings and class photos. Some of the doors are open, I glance inside before moving on. The desks are littered with crayons and papers. There are still backpacks beside the tables, as if everyone just… disappeared. Where have all the children gone? A wave of unease overtakes me, and I leave the room. The idea of children being here, maybe even moments before, terrifies me. I’m back in the hallway, it smells like fresh paint with a hint of sawdust. Light from the dying sun filters in through the dusty glass doors at the end of the hallway. I keep walking, further, further into this concrete prison, splattered with drawings and report cards, daring me to explore more. I can’t stay here any longer. It’s too unnerving. This concrete hallway is crushing me, pushing all the air from my lungs. I desperately need to breathe. I turn to sprint away, my legs carrying me to the doors, back to the street, back to air. My legs are moving too fast for my body, I can’t keep up with myself. I tumble to the ground, my knees scraping against the floor, my heart beating in my ears, my lungs fighting to stay alive. Gasping, I sit there on the ground, alone, terrified. Then I hear it.
A quiet cry, coming from the door on my left. Desperate to see another living being, I stumble into the room. A young woman, in her mid-twenties, sits in a corner, sobbing, surrounded by the papers of her students. She doesn’t hear me enter. I start to approach her, frightened of what awaits in the coming moments. Maybe she’s lost her sanity. “No, no, no..” she says, fighting through her tears. I am only feet away from her now. Her breathing is ragged, it catches in her throat as she inhales, rattling as she pushes the air out. Gently, I touch her right shoulder. She gasps, wheels around, and there’s a stinging sensation in my arm. A glint of silver shines in her hand. The knife that just cut my arm open is resting between her fingers. “What the hell happened?” She screams at me. Her brown hair is falling out of its bun, her blue eyes crackling with fear. “I don’t know either! I’m trying to figure everything out.” From the way she looks at me, I know she doesn’t trust me. I keep my eyes trained on the knife in her …show more content…
hand. “What happened to you?” Figuring out exactly what went down before I got here is my best bet.
Hopefully then she won’t stab me in the heart. That seems like something this lady would do. Through tears, she begins to explain. “I had to go to the workroom to make some copies. I heard some kids screaming, but I just thought it was coming from kids playing in the gym. When I got back to the classroom, the kids were…” She stopped for a moment, let out a racking sob, then proceeded. “My kids were gone. They had just… they… disappeared.”
She breaks down crying again, falls to her knees against the cold tile floor. I begin to ask how long it’s been since they went missing, but decide against it. It would just harm her more. Instead, I settle on something more reassuring.
“Hey, it’s fine. You’re fine, we’ll find your kids.” That’s the only thing I can think of saying to her. It’s a lie, we’re not fine, but maybe it can make her feel better. She snaps her head up and our eyes meet. She stares at me, her eyes bloodshot and unmoving.
“Get out.” her voice is eerily calm.
I have two options. I can figure out exactly what’s happening, possibly risking my life in the process of talking to this deranged woman, or I can heed her instructions and leave, gaining no
answers.
In the end, I choose to leave. Not wanting to turn my back to her for fear of feeling the blade in my spine, I slowly back away. It’s not until I get out of the room that I turn and run, sprinting out of the school.
But these hallways twist and turn, soon I’m lost in the mess of drawings and classrooms, unable to make my way out of the labyrinth that I’ve trapped myself in. My footsteps echo through the concrete bricks, so much so that it sounds like a second pair of shoes slamming across the tile floor. When I stop and catch my breath, my heart beats in my skull, and it feels like I can still hear the echoes of my footsteps. It takes a moment for me to come to my senses and realize that she’s coming after me. I wheel around and stare down the hall to see her running, stumbling, really, breathing hard, still teary-eyed. I’m too frightened to move, and I just let her come at me.
“Wait, please! Wait…” she’s shouting down the hall at me.
I stand there, paralyzed as she toward me.
“I’m sorry. I was just shocked.” she pants. “You have no idea how hard it is be responsible for children and then just…” she trails off, a look of pure terror in her eyes. She shakes her head, clearing her mind of the memories of the kids. “My name’s Kennedy. Kennedy Durant. I taught 2nd grade here.”
“Taught?”
“Well there’s no kids to teach anymore. I don’t know where they’ve gone.” Kennedy pauses a moment before choosing a new topic. “What’s your name?”
“Adrian Williams.”
She looks me up and down for a moment, like an artist scrutinizing a painting. She takes my wrist in her hand and leads me down the hall, the opposite direction I was going. After walking a few seconds, I see a glass door at the end of another hallway.
Desperate for air, I begin to walk faster, urging Kennedy to get me outside quickly. When we finally burst through the doors of the school, I feel rejuvenated. It’s begun to rain, the droplets soaking into my skin, refreshing me, reaching deep down inside and comforting my pounding heart. The cut on my arm stings from the water rushing to clean the wound, but I pay no attention. I’m out of that school. That’s all that really matters.
My lungs fill with cool autumn air. Breathe in, breathe out. In, out. In, out. As I breathe, I begin to walk. My head doesn’t know what my destination is, but my legs carry me. Down the road, turn right onto Meridian Street. The only sound is the wind in the trees, my feet on the ground. My shoe scraping softly against the pavement. It’s quiet. Too quiet. Somewhere, I can hear a bird’s hushed call. It seems like that’s the only living thing out here. The town of Pittsboro, Indiana has always been a quaint little place, but never anything like this. No cars, no people. Just me and the air and the leaves on the ground. The elementary school, usually packed full with buses and cars and students, is abandoned. …show more content…
The ghost of a day, once bright and lively, has been replaced with an empty shell of concrete and glass. Where have all the children gone? A swing on the playground lazily sways back and forth, carrying a thousand memories of sunny days and laughter. The swing taunts me, free to move but still chained to this playground. Does this place know that it’s empty? Do the spirits here carry on? Do they know something is wrong? One of the doors is slightly ajar. I walk inside, stare at the walls decorated with finger paintings and class photos. Some of the doors are open, I glance inside before moving on. The desks are littered with crayons and papers. There are still backpacks beside the tables, as if everyone just… disappeared. Where have all the children gone? A wave of unease overtakes me, and I leave the room. The idea of children being here, maybe even moments before, terrifies me. I’m back in the hallway, it smells like fresh paint with a hint of sawdust. Light from the dying sun filters in through the dusty glass doors at the end of the hallway. I keep walking, further, further into this concrete prison, splattered with drawings and report cards, daring me to explore more. I can’t stay here any longer. It’s too unnerving. This concrete hallway is crushing me, pushing all the air from my lungs. I desperately need to breathe. I turn to sprint away, my legs carrying me to the doors, back to the street, back to air. My legs are moving too fast for my body, I can’t keep up with myself. I tumble to the ground, my knees scraping against the floor, my heart beating in my ears, my lungs fighting to stay alive. Gasping, I sit there on the ground, alone, terrified. Then I hear it.
A quiet cry, coming from the door on my left. Desperate to see another living being, I stumble into the room. A young woman, in her mid-twenties, sits in a corner, sobbing, surrounded by the papers of her students. She doesn’t hear me enter. I start to approach her, frightened of what awaits in the coming moments. Maybe she’s lost her sanity. “No, no, no..” she says, fighting through her tears. I am only feet away from her now. Her breathing is ragged, it catches in her throat as she inhales, rattling as she pushes the air out. Gently, I touch her right shoulder. She gasps, wheels around, and there’s a stinging sensation in my arm. A glint of silver shines in her hand. The knife that just cut my arm open is resting between her fingers. “What the hell happened?” She screams at me. Her brown hair is falling out of its bun, her blue eyes crackling with fear. “I don’t know either! I’m trying to figure everything out.” From the way she looks at me, I know she doesn’t trust me. I keep my eyes trained on the knife in her …show more content…
hand. “What happened to you?” Figuring out exactly what went down before I got here is my best bet.
Hopefully then she won’t stab me in the heart. That seems like something this lady would do. Through tears, she begins to explain. “I had to go to the workroom to make some copies. I heard some kids screaming, but I just thought it was coming from kids playing in the gym. When I got back to the classroom, the kids were…” She stopped for a moment, let out a racking sob, then proceeded. “My kids were gone. They had just… they… disappeared.”
She breaks down crying again, falls to her knees against the cold tile floor. I begin to ask how long it’s been since they went missing, but decide against it. It would just harm her more. Instead, I settle on something more reassuring.
“Hey, it’s fine. You’re fine, we’ll find your kids.” That’s the only thing I can think of saying to her. It’s a lie, we’re not fine, but maybe it can make her feel better. She snaps her head up and our eyes meet. She stares at me, her eyes bloodshot and unmoving.
“Get out.” her voice is eerily calm.
I have two options. I can figure out exactly what’s happening, possibly risking my life in the process of talking to this deranged woman, or I can heed her instructions and leave, gaining no
answers.
In the end, I choose to leave. Not wanting to turn my back to her for fear of feeling the blade in my spine, I slowly back away. It’s not until I get out of the room that I turn and run, sprinting out of the school.
But these hallways twist and turn, soon I’m lost in the mess of drawings and classrooms, unable to make my way out of the labyrinth that I’ve trapped myself in. My footsteps echo through the concrete bricks, so much so that it sounds like a second pair of shoes slamming across the tile floor. When I stop and catch my breath, my heart beats in my skull, and it feels like I can still hear the echoes of my footsteps. It takes a moment for me to come to my senses and realize that she’s coming after me. I wheel around and stare down the hall to see her running, stumbling, really, breathing hard, still teary-eyed. I’m too frightened to move, and I just let her come at me.
“Wait, please! Wait…” she’s shouting down the hall at me.
I stand there, paralyzed as she toward me.
“I’m sorry. I was just shocked.” she pants. “You have no idea how hard it is be responsible for children and then just…” she trails off, a look of pure terror in her eyes. She shakes her head, clearing her mind of the memories of the kids. “My name’s Kennedy. Kennedy Durant. I taught 2nd grade here.”
“Taught?”
“Well there’s no kids to teach anymore. I don’t know where they’ve gone.” Kennedy pauses a moment before choosing a new topic. “What’s your name?”
“Adrian Williams.”
She looks me up and down for a moment, like an artist scrutinizing a painting. She takes my wrist in her hand and leads me down the hall, the opposite direction I was going. After walking a few seconds, I see a glass door at the end of another hallway.
Desperate for air, I begin to walk faster, urging Kennedy to get me outside quickly. When we finally burst through the doors of the school, I feel rejuvenated. It’s begun to rain, the droplets soaking into my skin, refreshing me, reaching deep down inside and comforting my pounding heart. The cut on my arm stings from the water rushing to clean the wound, but I pay no attention. I’m out of that school. That’s all that really matters.