Ghost Tower One
Matthew Ryan Fischer
The pictures on the wall of students from long ago. The chairs
pushed in. The screensavers in perpetual motion. The lights stayed on, though
no one really knew why. Fourteen years had come and gone in the blink of an eye.
One former student stopped by. Another emailed. Did anyone else remember him?
Did they think back fondly? Did it matter?
There was a medal pin on the desk. He found it on the floor. Someone
had lost it or forgotten it. A participation trophy for competing in a state
band competition. No one asked about it. And when he announced he had found it,
no one raised their hands. And so, it sat on the desk, waiting for its owner to
return, a new home already found.
The seats changed. The names changed. Fourteen different names for
each location. He could name a maybe a dozen overall if he were lucky. The
faces blurred, but perhaps he could see a few dozen more. They were all gone
now. Shadows in his mind. Ghosts wandering the halls. Who would be remembered
and who would be forgotten?
He could still hear the chatter, the whispers and laughter. The
young, smiling faces, so full of hope and energy. No one came around anymore.
No one remembered. The voices faded and forgotten. But the lights stayed on, in
case someone might return.
His time had come. The night was late, the sky dark. The hallways
were empty. The time had come. To lock the doors and move along. The shadows
the only reminder he had been there at all.
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