Drill

“Do you think it’s over?”

The question stood silent in the once overly bright workroom, like a meerkat. Except, the den was a turn of tunneled hallways.

Teacher one turned to teacher two, who held her gaze on teacher three. Of the trio, he seemed to be the one broadcasting the question loudest. Stress had made his face haggard, but it was fear that now made it also look sick.

Teacher two shook her head. He seemed like he was going to say it aloud, but they needed absolute silence. The door was locked, the lights out, and they would stay huddled in the corner away from the windows until they were released per established procedure.

This wasn’t an announced lockdown drill. It wasn’t unheard of, but unease settled, prickling between her shoulder blades. She was thankful there weren’t any students at school today. If it weren’t for their scheduled professional development, the stress would have been much greater. It was enough now, already too much.

Teacher one had her phone out, searching for area crime reports, any information, as she also texted their peers. She was the only one who had her cell at the time of the alarm, making the others envious. She had something to do, instead of simply waiting.

Noise. Footfall. The door handle jangled… Finally.

Finally

(I can’t even give names to my imaginary peers in this vignette; it’s that kind of scene for me… But it is written, and so it will remain unchanged. What will I do in 2018? I will continue to face my discomforts and fears, acknowledge anxiety, and build myself up. Creative writing will continue to be my therapy and releif.)

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