God, I’m so excited to return to my old school. I remember attending high school like it was yesterday: I was captain of the football team, dating the hottest girl in school and everyone either wanted to be me or be with me. It was such a dream. Obviously, I’ve fallen off a bit since then—I’m now a construction worker, but I’ll always cherish the days of school.

Yesterday, my high school girlfriend, who I guess is my ex now, texted me, asking whether I wanted to meet up with her. Evidently, I said yes. I wanted to see how it changed, didn’t I? Change is good. It helps us grow.

As I approach the school along the same gravel road I walked for four years, I reminisce upon old memories. Back when I was sixteen, I scored the winning shot at our homecoming game. Everyone loved me for that—the teachers, the players, even the nerds who didn’t care about football. But I only cared about one person’s attention: Sarah’s. She was cheering too, so I ran up to her kissed her. It was soft and hot and dreamy—perfect for my first kiss. Her legs wrapped around my hips as I ran my hands through her peach-scented, platinum-blond hair. God, Sarah. I wanted to say I loved her right there. When we finally broke apart after what could’ve been a few minutes or several hours or even a thousand sunlit days, our eyes finally met, like a starry night meeting a sunlit forest. And at that point, I knew I didn’t need to say anything at all.

A few more minutes. Around 100 metres more, a left turn and then a right turn and I will see my old school. Did I mention I was excited? Okay, okay… left… right… school—

What?

WHAT?

Why does it look so… so…

This isn’t right. I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. I desperately turn, intending to retrace my steps, but a voice stops me.

“Steven.” I turn. On the little swing, whose strings are fraying in all directions and whose metal is dented and rusted, sits a woman. She’s wearing a flowing white dress with lace, embroidery and an endless train, She looks sickly pale, as though she is a ghost. Her hair is an icy colour—almost white, but not quite. The lightest grey, perhaps. Her skin is sagging greatly around her hollowed cheeks, her blood-red lips, and her eyes—those eyes, I realise. They’re the same. Almond-shaped, upturned. One hazel like a mix of spun gold and tree bark and a forested hillside, and the other pure green like an emerald in the rough.

“You.” The nameless name feels like wind against my mouth, escaping my lips before I can stop it.

“You came,” she says, getting up from the swing. I feel my legs quickly take a step backward. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“Where are we?” I blurt out.

She tilts her head, her lips almost curving upwards into a smirk. “Didn’t I tell you? This is our old school.”

I stare up the crumbling building. No. No, no, no, no, no. I can not be. Our school was great, glorious. But I see it now. The red bricks, now a strange tawny colour, that built up the pillar; the arched entryway, now splintered and smashed; the statue of our school mascot—a grizzly bear—-has now crumbled, its head thrown carelessly onto the floor. God. It really is… why couldn’t see it before?

“Sarah…”

But I don’t ever see her again. She’s gone. The school’s empty. No pale ghost, no two-coloured eyes, nothing. It’s empty. I am alone. With my fears and the remains of my second home sit on either side of me.

Let me leave this place behind.