The Civil War

The dusty schoolhouse had been standing on the hill since before anyone could remember. Built shortly after the second world war, it had remained unchanged over the intervening years, a fixture in the small rural community it served.

As Marjorie entered the school, she thought she could hear whispers coming from behind the doors as she passed them. The voices were like memories bubbling to the surface or an accidental trick of the wind whipping through broken windows. Then, stopping at one of them, she placed her hand on the worn doorknob, opening the door slowly. As she entered the room, swirls of dust kicked up around her feet. She imagined years of chalk dust deposited between the cracks in the floorboards coming to life and dancing around as she slowly crossed the room.

Marjorie sat in one of the many desks set in orderly rows facing the front of the room. Something about the order made her uneasy, but she couldn’t quite admit to herself why. The desk seemed smaller than she remembered it and her knees wouldn’t quite fit under it. She quickly forgot about the discomfort as she pulled out her textbook. She turned to the last lesson she remembered, “The Civil War.” As Marjorie began to read, a tear rolled down her check and onto the page, rinsing off the dust that had settled on the surface.

Slowly Marjorie closed the book and stood up, placing the book into her school bag and pushing her chair under the desk. She looked out the windows, which had long ago cracked from age, at the grey landscape that seemed to spread out from the schoolhouse.

Marjorie abruptly broke her gaze and shook her head as if coming out of a daze. She quickly walked to the door and down the darkened hall. The broken tables and chairs strewn about the hall scared her. She continued quickly down the sidewalk, dust kicking up around her feet. After several minutes of walking, she began to see other people walking in the same direction.

She reached the gate. The large metal doors were still open allowing entry to the complex. Loud motors turned filtration systems which removed most of the dust from the air. A curtain of air blew down as Marjorie walked through the gate and once again heard the familiar sounds of a multitude of people pressed into small cubicles. She walked by the nurse’s station and held out her arm. The nurse responded by pressing a large silver object against her skin. She heard a hiss and the familiar bite of the injection breaking her skin.

Marjorie walked silently past the cubicles until she reached the one assigned to her. She quickly hid her school bag under the small cot in the corner and sat down. She heard the large metal doors begin to close and the last rush of people rushing to return to the safety of the complex. The lights began to dim as the generators powered down. Marjorie laid back in her cot and allowed her eyes to close.

“Marjorie, it’s time to get up for school,” said a voice in the hallway. Marjorie opened her eyes and saw the warm blue colors of her walls. Her large canopy bed sat in the middle of her room. A doll sat in the rocking chair in the corner, and she saw her school bag hanging on the back. Her mother opened her door and came in, turning on the bright light.

“You’ll be late for school.”

“Ok, Mom. I’m getting up.”

Marjorie quickly walked to the front door of the house and ran out to the sidewalk. She crossed the street and walked to the little schoolhouse on the hill. Marjorie walked down the hall and opened the door to her history class. When she entered the room, she saw all the children pressed against the window. In the distance, a bright light was growing on the horizon. It seemed to grow until it engulfed the sun.

Marjorie awoke with a start. The large metal doors were opening for the day. Marjorie grabbed her school bag and walked to the open doors. As she walked past the doors, she broke off from the rest of the group and ran over the hill past the safe zone signs and onto the dusty sidewalk. She saw the schoolhouse on the hill and slowly walked to the entrance.