Sunlight room.

Walking down the corridor, lined with several doors, which time has marked as it has gone by, there is one last room. This room is a classroom, like all the others. But this classroom hides a treasure in it's center.



The door opens, and an old blackboard comes into view, old notes are scribbled on it in chalk, and faint cracks line the frame that holds it to the wall. Facing this board are thirty small tables posed in chaotic order. The teacher's desk has been pulled out of it's place, pushing some of the smaller tables out of their place. Books lay strewn upon the floor as if someone had thrown them around in some random spout of anger. And under the table is a small boy of about twelve years with his head against the hard wood of the interior of the table. He looks up, as if he had seen something, and then, with a sigh, slides down to a fetal position on the ground. Abruptly, his shoulders scrunch up and his whole body begins to tremble, a few sobs escape his lips. He extends his hands up as if trying to reach a rope to pull himself out from some terrible harm, but his skin only touches the old wood from the table, and it's not long before it falls again by his side.