scp high school. that is all.
thank you, my critters:
Mew-ltiverse
UraniumEmpire
ODSTDRAGON
XilasCrowe apparently
- laneous does not match any existing user name
hawkguyy
I'm a nobody. That's who I am. I'm not important, not at all. The world doesn't revolve around my actions. I'm completely unnecessary in the scope of things. A spectator, if you will. A spectator…
"Forty-nine! We're supposed to be dissecting the frogs, not raising them from the dead!" Our biology teacher shrieked, pointing at a rather lively amphibian in Forty-nine's hands.
…to this mess, just another heap of disarray in the hallowed halls of SCP High.
My high school, simply put, is full of a bunch of fucking weirdos. The government noticed we were all different and instead of trying to integrate us into society so we could live normal lives, they stuck us in this hellhole where we could tear each other into pieces without any collateral damage.
Some of the teachers are like us. Apparently the art teacher is some kinda sloth-dude, which is cool, but I don't have him— but only because of the moronic secretary who forgot to process my class signup forum.
Fuck, I got off track, didn't I? Uhhh… right, biology.
Forty-nine scoffed, petting his new slippery friend. "Shoulda' let me skip this class then, Teach."
I wanted to call him an asshole— even though he wasn't really acting like a complete asshole at the time, it was just the energy he was giving off— but then I realized I wanted to pet his frog too, but then I realized I should probably just do nothing. So nothing I did, and eventually, after what felt like an hour-long shouting match, the bell rung, and I was the first one out of the door.
My next class of the day was Social Studies with Mr. Shepherd, who I'd probably hug if he wasn't a horrifying anthropomorphic mass of squirmy, slimy worms. And he got really mad about me calling his class 'Social Studies' once, saying the term 'never makes sense the way it's used nowadays.'
"So, how are you kids doing today?" He asked, trying to get us engaged.
Complete. Silence. Little does he know, all of us 'kids' are dying inside! No time for engagement when we're worrying about the heaps of never ending schoolwork upon our backs!
"Bit tired? Well, maybe today's topic can help perk you guys up a bit. Today we're learning about the Foundation!" The same people who put us in here! Nice!
Usually he'd cover some cooler stuff, like that one time he ranted about the branches of the government and why the electoral college kinda sucks because, 'the system's been in place for over 250 years and was made for a nation a fraction the size of the present USA!'
"So, I'm sure you all know who they are. The same people who put you in this place, eh? I'm not a big fan of them either, hehe. But they're forcing me to do a lesson on them, so here we go. So, basically—"
Then, I must've been so bored I fell asleep. Yeah. Not my best moment.
I woke up with a slimy poke to my side. Mr. Shepherd— for a scraggly jumble of worms— looked rather concerned. "Hey… you. Sorry, uh, I musta' forgot your name, that's unlike me!"
"Don't worry, I'm used to it."
"Alrighty, anyways, it's lunchtime and I'm supposed to be going out to the compost bin the Environment Club put together for me, so—"
Interrupting him, I stood up and left, not wanting to say or hear anything else.
The lunchroom is a chaotic, blood-curdling coliseum. Every clique is separated into their own little area, where they can mingle and talk and laugh and overall be cool to flex on those of us who aren't in cliques. Such cliques include…
The Popular Kids: Forty-Nine, One-Seven-Three, Oh-Nine-Six, and One-Oh-Six. Also known as the 'Faces of SCP High.' They were some of the first weirdoes found, so they're the ones who were put on all the propaganda. You know, all those pictures with smiling kids who look like they're having the times of their lives? Yeah. So naturally, all that time they spent in those photoshoots must've bought them together. Anyways, for being popular, they're actually pretty nice people. But still, it's really hard to hang out with them.
The 'Popular' Kids: Notice the quotes? Yeah, these are the fellas who act like they're the shit, but really they're just incredible edgy and rude. Six-Eight-Two, his best friend Seventy-Nine (who's actually just an AI in a Chromebook, real cool, dude), that one guy who beat the shit out of me last time I said his name, and this ninja who everyone just calls 'Darkblade'— which if that isn't the edgiest thing I've ever heard, I don't know what is.
The Nerds: Two-Eight-Four-Two, Four-Seven-Two-Six, and a whole bunch of others that I've never seen because even just laying my eyes on that table gives me a mind-shattering headache.
I'm getting tired of this, but I think you get the idea. A whole bunch of weirdoes in a whole bunch of weirdo groups, right? But not me.
Instead of sitting down in the lunchroom, I snuck out and found refuge in the quiet, dark auditorium. As I blindly managed to munch on my baby carrots, I thought about how bad school lunches are, but it's not like we can make cold lunches for ourselves.
Then I got bored of listening to my own voice, so I simply laid my head back against the cushioned seat and became one with the darkness.
It was always so calm, sitting in that room. Nobody else in that giant expanse except for little old me. No other kids to worry about, or grades to stress about, or literally anything to do but eat and just relax.
I probably could've fallen asleep in that room and not even noticed when I'd wake up to the bell. But this day was different. This day, the lights clicked on around me, illuminating the auditorium as a booming voice spoke through the intercom. "Assembly! Everyone, please report to the auditorium!"
Good side: I'd get to miss fourth-hour history with Mr. Kawamoto.
Bad side: Random kids were flooding into the only place I actually felt safe. Luckily though, I was in the way back, and the teachers were herding everyone towards the front. After a few minutes, everyone was settled, and our principal walked on stage. Principal Gears. The man responsible for this mess.
He approached a microphone stand. "Testing, testing?" His voice echoed through the auditorium, and he grinned softly. The grin of someone hiding something, I think. "Hello everyone. How are you all doing?"
Complete silence, again. This guy should've learned from Mr. Shepherd.
"Alright then. Well, it's come to our attention that some of you students have been a bit stressed out from school…"
Oh, a bit?
"And we want to be able to relieve that stress safely. That's why we're implementing some new programs to help you all. Starting from next week Monday, we're going to have new counselors that you can speak to, plus— and I'm sure you'll all be excited to hear this…"
No excitement whatsoever…
"Therapy animals," he exclaimed emotionlessly, which sounds impossible, but somehow he could make everything sound so boring. "Wilson Wildlife Solution's is a great friend of ours, and we're lucky to have them host new therapy animal nights every Friday at 6 PM."
Not bad, I guess…
He continued to drone on: "More on that later, though. Alright, guidance counselors. We'll be hiring five of the nation's most talented therapists, and each one will handle a fifth of you students. 1 to 999 share one, 1000 to 1999 share another, and so on. Because of this, you'll have to schedule times to meet with them through the…"
I wasn't listening. I drowned him out, floating up into my own little world of darkness inside my head. Just another program based on our numbers. Because that's all we are to them. Things.
But I don't even get a number. I don't even know my own name. I'm Nobody. Not important at all. I'm completely unnecessary.
All I am is a spectator to this mess— a half-assed solution they call SCP High.
And this is just one day.