Catherina - Day 8

Along with a few other students, I was standing in the darkness, peeping out of the windows. The classroom we were in was empty – the clock on the back door pointed a quarter past eleven, long past the curfew. Outside, we could see yellow light from lamps located on the outer wall of the building, forming overlapping circles on the bare concrete ground.

The School was a queer place. First of all, it stood on the very peak of a snow-covered mountain, and I, throughout the years I've been studying there, wondered what kind of design prevented its students from anoxia. Secondly, we grew up here. Most of us arrived before grade 1 and had never left since, though neither were we orphans nor high functioning sociopaths. Lastly, we had regular visitors seemly coming out from nowhere. Consider this: these visitors come quietly through the front gate in fitted suits and dresses, not some clumsy mountaineering clothes. How could they have achieved this without a helicopter or an airplane (which must bring about deafening noise, but was there even place for landing)?

Under the cloudless starry sky, four men in black uniforms were carrying boxes into the building through the side door directly underneath the windows. The boxes were waist-high and had a metallic hue.

"I bet these were for our food supply." Someone whispered. We nodded in unison, just to recognize his point, not to agree.

"Where did they come from?" That was the critical question everyone had in mind – their way in marked a possible way out for us. As you may see, though we had spent most of our lives here, our longing for the outside world did not fade. Indeed, this goal united the present squad.

No one answered, ten curious eyes keenly pursuing the four men below. They worked in pairs in handling the boxes, entering our sight from behind the snow-laid rocks and disappearing within meters from the building (since we timidly stayed in the shade, we had a blind area angling down the window).

"What could be behind the rocks?" Again, silence. Living here for over ten years, no one ever seemed to have concerned about this question. At that moment, I faintly recalled when the nurse told me that the rocks were to prevent students from slipping over the icy cliff. "20 years ago, a little girl, a bit older than you, had fallen off the cliff. We never found her body." Was there any pity in her amber eyes? Doubtfully, as I recalled the incident.

We knew the altitude of the mount we stood on – no way these boxes could be lifted over a cliff by merely four men. Merely impossible. Either the nurse was lying, or it was a miracle.

Lowering my body, I tiptoed away from the window towards the classroom door, squeezing its knob to open a seam quietly. The corridor was empty as it should be.

"Come!" Though shouting internally, the sound produced was no louder than a mosquito's buzz. I stared at my peers, making hasting gestures to communicate the urgency.

"Take the stairs on the left." Someone murmured, and we understood each other quite naturally - that was the staircase leading to the southern door (the four men were using the west door), which, being the oldest, had no CCTV, and thus known among the students as the "dating stairwell."

One after another, we formed a five-dot line, moving with our back against one side of the wall until we approached the door towards the stairwell, which was never locked for safety purposes.

Perhaps we fancied being some secret agents, for I saw that everyone had his / her "formal" face on – "formal" as in attending the annual opening ceremony, 90% of which was the principal's speech that remained unchanged for over a decade. When we gathered on the ground floor, anxiously staring at the exit door in front of us, our facial expression was even graver.

Deep breath in, long breath out, Repeat twice. The nurse who taught us this trick "to stay sane in any possible scenario" probably had not included this situation in her "scenario" list.

Again, we exchanged a nervous look, and I, being the closest to the door, squeezed the knob to let in a small shade of moonshine - No movement -the dumb rocks surrounding the School as a moat around a castle. No sound even, at least not the organic ones – only the indistinct noises of boots hitting the concrete ground (how the School kept its field and surrounding grounds away from the snow was yet another mystery).

Smoothly we slid out of the door one by one, reforming our five-dot line against the outer wall. I dared not to think how much my lovely, high-tech cardigan would suffer from friction with the wall.

We wore indoor training shoes designed for the delicate wooden floor of our gym, and these produced far fewer noises than the worker's heavy boots. Tiptoeing, we proceeded like five awkward ballerinas pressed against a plane. Someone had an oppressed sneeze, sending a light wave of shiver through the wall and across our touching fingertips.

I stopped, safely sheltered by the inky shadow, looking out to the four workers. Two were standing with hands in their pockets, watching the other pair finishing off with the last box. Silently we watched the two carrying the box towards the building, cut off by its sharp corner (as if the wall had absorbed them), and reappeared only minutes later.

The four workers walked off, casually exchanging a word or two – as deducted from their head movement – and vanished among the black rocks.

Sneaking towards the rocks, we blended ourselves into their darkness, only to have a corner of our face under the starry sky, stealing a quick glimpse at the vague outline of some indistinguishable human shapes.

"Let's follow them." That was a risky suggestion, risking being caught and perhaps eliminated (now that I suspected some unspeakable behind the running of School). But did that make any significant difference? We've already violated like ten rules by staying out late.

"Alright, then." We whispered, exchanging timid, yet firm looks. We set out no longer in a line but an intimate group as if something greater had been born with that two-word phrase. We were ants on the same leave, passengers on the same boat.

Rock. Rock with creaks. Rock smoother than jade. We bent our backs and traced the rocks until there were none. We entered a wood that we knew not to be existing before.

"Hush." We all froze, listening, seeing, feeling – sensing. Some noises came faintly from our right, where the dorms located. Someone must have discovered our cover (I mean, what could you expect, tucking pillows under bedsheets) and sent a run for us.

Exchanging an anxious look, we hastened our pace. The wood was dense, trees forming a canopy that shielded moonshine away from the ground. With faint light coming through seams between leaves, we could make out a thin lane in the middle of the wood – a possible way out.

We could no longer see the four workers, and the noise was enclosing upon us quickly. Judging by its hertz, I suspected that they had, if not already, entered the rock labyrinth.

We began to run, careful not to crack any fallen branches as first, but then nevermind producing sounds! We could see freedom (figuratively, because despite seeing nothing but darkness, I was confident that the nurse had lied, and thus there must have been an outgoing path), and we devoted effort. If we put our life and freedom on the same scale, which way could it tilt? I suppose none. Both are valuable, but if I can, I would sacrifice none for the other.

Suddenly the world brightened up. For a moment, I thought we entered a trap, but no, it was not artificial light like we had in classrooms, but natural light, by which I meant sunshine. This sun, which I saw high above our head, was different from what we had seen at School. Right now, the sun was a white ball with golden lining, and afore it was yellower, more orange, resembling what one might picture as a stereotypical "sun."

And what fascinating scents - the light, refreshing smell from lush green trees, and the metallic odor of raw steel from the complex structure laid out in front of us. It was a network of bridges and railroads - could be a station of some sort. A light rail stop, perhaps.

Tentatively, we walked across the nearest bridge, arriving at the other side of the station. Still panting from the previous run, we strolled along. It was not time to celebrate yet, as we knew not when the pursuers would appear among the woods.

"I wish a train is coming soon." Said I. The rest nodded, looking far to the horizon at either end of the rail.

As if answering my call, a train – silvery-white, its nose shaped like a bullet, with dark windows – approached from behind us. We watched it coming in noiselessly, gradually decelerating, and eventually stopping by.

Do we take it or no? The question passed our minds like lightning – I had a curious sense that I knew what my peers were thinking, though this consideration was written all over their faces.

Silence for one second. No sounds from the woods – maybe School had given up. Shall we sneak back? You see, deciding whether to abandon (note: abandon, not leave – I was sure that I wouldn't come back) your home for ten years in a few seconds was such a cruel thing that I hope no one will ever experience. However, our "family members" had weaved such grand a lie – no snow mountains, no cliff, no risk of freezing or anoxia – to entrap us for no evident reason.

Silence for two seconds. A movement of trees, shaking of the branches. With the train blocking our view, we could only see the tip of trees shivering ever lightly, as when a bird had picked a leaf from it. Was that normal? Perhaps a breeze just past through. However, it could be School. Who might it be? The horse face concierge? The dorm director with her brown hound pup? Or could it be the principal himself?

Silence for three seconds. Deep breath in; slow breath out. No time to repeat. Either we take it, or we lose it. School, home, lie, risk, unknown - the silvery train was waiting impatiently.

I took a step. Rightward towards the closest gate. After that one step, things had gotten smoother. I hopped on, and my peers followed.

After three long shrieks of alarm, the gates closed. The train was quite empty, dotted by a few people here and there. Its interior was disappointingly ordinary like one would expect to see in a light rail cabin: white walls, two rows of opposite navy-blue seats and orange handles hanging over, and metal posts. A map located on the upper edge of the window, marking stops that none of us had heard of.

After the initial excitement, we had fallen asleep. Having been up the whole night, realizing that the previous decade was nothing but a lie, and making some significant decision without knowing the exact consequence – it was too much to bear, even the burden had been shared by five.

When I woke up, outside was a serene rosy violet – the sun was sinking, leaving only a crimson lineage at the horizon. Expressways, skyscrapers, cars, and people - we were going through a city. The cabin was more populated than when we had taken it. An aged lady was sitting on the opposite row, reading. Beside her, a young lad had his fancy headphone on, scrolling through his phone. Afterall, School did not establish itself on top of clouds - a suburb with smart design, at most.

The train had slowed down upon entering another station. I decided to get down, despite having no sounding justification. "I will go." Standing up, I proceeded to the gate. My friends nodded to me solemnly, as if they had understood my inner passion and internalized it to be one of their own. They past out from my mind, and now I could no longer recall their faces.

The train stopped completely, and I walked out of the gate. Taking another look back, I saw the nanny still reading, the lad with his phone, and some vague figures beside my original seat. Taking the stairs with an "exit" sign hanging above it, I entered the city.

The sun had fallen entirely, and the upper strata of the sky, which used to be a pale violet, had turned to a darker velvet blue. I was walking inside a neighborhood, passing shops (selling clothes, bags, and hardware) that had the "closed" board hanging behind windows and glass doors locked. There was one store still open, having handmade desserts like sticky rice cakes and sweet rice balls. A middle-aged man was chatting with the saleslady, a small pup by his side.

I walked away from them into further darkness, having a firm belief that my home was among the thousands of apartment units there. No, nothing. After a length of time, I retreated to the little shop, the man still there, and the pup in his hand.

"Your home is not here." Without turning towards me, he spoke, "you should leave."

Thus, I left and only to fall into another world of dream.

photo credit: https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.ciophoto.com%2F2011%2F08%2Ftwilight-tide.html&psig=AOvVaw2dp3Gq24QG7Vkq0nNopT18&ust=1591838197043000&source=images&cd=vfe&ved=0CAIQjRxqFwoTCOjP88yJ9ukCFQAAAAAdAAAAABAK