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unity outside the classrooms, the desks and chairs rearranged, the boards cleaned, the broken
glass replaced. However, even the aggressive normality of uncomfortable grey chairs and
yellow 2B pencils couldn’t draw attention from the faint red blushes on the walls even bleach
could not remove.
Over time, the memories, the horror would stop floating around hallways and in
conversations, become crystallized in newspapers, Facebook statuses and yearbooks. Over
time, the smell of fresh paint would replace the smell of bleach. The talk of college
admissions and gossip would replace the hushed discussions of tragedies and guns. Over
time, one might think they had moved on, recovered - as is the order of things.
But if you looked closely, you could see. You could see the stray tears wiped while leaving
the third floor bathroom no one ever used, the extra waiting chairs outside the guidance
counsellor’s office, the uncharacteristically quiet lines passing through metal detectors. The
blood may have been covered by new paint, but it would always be there, underneath.
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IYC President and passionate literature lover, Srishti Ojha is the poster girl for quirky,
dedicated and talented. Her works of fiction will never fail to move you to tears.
