The old school

 He ignored the yellow tape surrounding the school he attended decades ago. The wrecking ball sat quietly in the distance, waiting for sunrise. It seemed smaller than he remembered, and he thought for a moment about what the long hallways were like when you were late for class. He walked from one area to another, looking through old metal lockers, hoping to find something left behind, then to the gym, where he could hear the whistles of a coach and the squeak of sneakers on hardwood floors. A rope still hung from the ceiling, and a basket of deflated basketballs was all that remained.

He remembered his homeroom class and made his way there, walking with memories of faces by his side, endless chatter and teasing, the pulling of ponytails, and books dropped on the floor with a bang. He had a seat at a lone desk he barely fit on, seeing his teacher, Mrs. Clark, reading from a book as she walked slowly around her class, taking a folded note from someone and throwing it in a trash can along with a squirt gun, a comic book, and a dead frog. He remembered the classroom being hot in the last few days before summer vacation, when the windows were opened, because there was no air conditioning back then.
He moved on to the auditorium, which had seemed huge then but now looked small, with seats gone and the stage standing alone where recitals and plays, award ceremonies, and graduations had once been held. He remembered walking onto that stage to receive an award he didn't know he was receiving and seeing his parents in the audience clapping as his name was called.
He heard the wrecking ball coming to life outside, so he made his way out into the light of day and joined others to watch the school crumble to dust, bringing silent tears of remembrance as his youth crumbled with it, never to be forgotten.

                                                                              

Mike 2026

Mike  2026