First class of the day.
The teacher reads names from a list,
an executioner calling us to our death.
I patiently wait for my name to be called
But in its place is a name that doesn’t sound right
It rings in my head like a funeral toll.
They look at me, waiting for something to come from my lips
I know they’re calling my name but
The me they want is not here
I want to correct them, tell them the name is wrong
But the only thing scarier than admitting that you’re here is admitting that you’re not.
Time slows down
The world stands still
My mind is running at the speed of light
I’m not here
I’m not here
I’m not here
I’m...
Here.
I raise my right hand
My fingers curled in defensively
The page is marked, the silence broken
The list continues,
The drone continues,
But the crushing hum of that name remains.