An Analysis of the Predictable and Ordinary

By Cassie Goundrey '24

​Before
 
Her dirty sneakers hit the cement with a consecutive thumping. The blood pounded in her ears as she gasped for air while arriving at the corner where two roads intersect. Her eyes dart quickly back and forth, looking for something. The rising sun begins to illuminate the cookie-cutter single-family homes designed in a maze that surrounds her. A crow caws in the distance, disturbing the silence embracing the morning. Glancing down at her watch, she notes the time 6:43 a.m. Her backpack is heavy with supplies as she waits alone. The unpredictability of the bus is an inconvenience. Waiting, she watches her breath materialize in front of her because of freezing temperatures. The brisk morning smelled of dew on freshly cut grass and the sweet musky scent in the breeze that caught her breath. She heard the grumble of the engine and screech of distant tires before she saw the bright yellow school bus hunker down the street. She walks onto the bus at 6:47 a.m.; she would have made it on time, without sprinting to the bus stop. Instead, the tattered green seats are filled with the same few people stuck without another ride. Their control of time is now left in the hands of the unpredictable time management skills of the bus driver. But the comfort of consistency and faith leaves them without any opposition. She spends the remainder of the ride observing the world through the foggy window drowning out the subtle chatter of her peers with music from her earbuds. Finally, at 7:02 AM, the bus comes to a complete stop in front of the school. The prison-like old building that she called school is filled with mobs of her peers walking around the halls like zombies. Everyone is gathered because it’s required and acquiring the tools needed for success. Everyone is maneuvering through the day in an unspoken self-centered world guarded by various niches and cliques. She keeps her head tilted down towards the odd plastic material of the floor, which is unsettlingly sticky. The clashing of lockers and conversation echo, bouncing through the halls. An utterly ordinary day with a habitual routine.
 
After.
 
Her dirty, blood-stained sneakers hit the cement with a consecutive thumping. The blood pounded in her ears dizzily as she gasped for air while arriving at the corner where two roads intersect. Her eyes dart quickly back and forth, looking for any slight sign of movement, tense at what might catch her eye. The rising sun begins to illuminate the hopelessly demolished cookie-cutter single-family homes designed in a maze, but now the few remaining stand alone amidst the chaos. A crow caws in the distance, disturbing the eerie silence looming above the morning. It was deadly quiet. She felt a bead of sweat drop down the back of her neck. With a quick glance down at her watch, she notes the time 6:43 a.m. Her backpack is heavy with supplies as she waits alone, completely exposed. The unpredictability of the bus is especially an inconvenience. Waiting, she watches her breath materialize in front of her because of freezing temperatures. The brisk morning smelled of rotting flesh and the smoky, bitter scent in the breeze that caught her breath. She heard the grumble of the engine, which sounded like it was about to give out any second, and the screech of overused tires before she saw the dingy yellow bus hunker down the street as if it was in immense pain. She walks onto the bus at 6:47 AM; she would have made it on time, without sprinting to the bus stop, but walking anywhere exposed for a significant amount of time is definitely worth avoiding. The tattered green seats are filled with the same few people, grateful for the ride. Their control of certainty is now left in the hands of the unpredictability of the bus driver. But the comfort of having hope leaves them without any opposition. She spends the remainder of the ride observing the world through what should be the windows. The glass that used to remain there is shattered, painted with blood, and the fog clings to the sky, continuing to cloud her vision. Without light chatter or music, she is drowned in the deafening silence. At 7:02 a.m., the bus comes to a complete stop. The ruined old prison-like building that she once called school is filled with mobs of what used to be her peers. The zombie-like creatures that once roamed the halls are now replaced by the monsters themselves. The smell of fear lingering in the air only adds weight to the pit in her stomach. Everyone is gathered because it’s necessary to raid the supplies left within the school. Everyone alive is maneuvering through their unspoken self-centered world guarded by various cliques of things from nightmares screeching in the distance. She keeps her head tilted up and alert, conscious of her surroundings. With her homemade weapon in hand, she feels her dirty blood-stained sneakers stick to the odd plastic material of the floor. The distant wails and growls echo through the halls, setting an unsettling shiver down her spine. An utterly ordinary day with an unpredictable routine.