The Dead Side
It is so cold. The heater broke down hours ago, and the temperature has steadily dropped. I hug my knees to my chest and tried to squeeze further back into the corner as if the icy white walls can keep me warm.
On the right side of the room students are huddled together, trying to conserve warmth by holding onto their friends in bundled clumps of grotesquely cheerful Christmas sweaters. Even now, I am the odd one out. The one with no friends to keep me warm.
On the left side are the dead and dying. Mrs. Bowler succombed early on; her corpse lies splayed out next to her beloved oak desk. The only color her skin has left is in the deep red blisters spotting her neck and face Dried blood covers her chin and stains the otherwise pristine white of her blouse. I can see bits of vomit on her woollen green vest.
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