Elara woke suddenly in the pre-dawn gloom. The thin mattress offered little comfort against the cold seeping from the stone walls. A vivid memory surfaced: the courtyard, the spilled drink, the dark stain on her pajamas, the pointing fingers and loud laughter from the dorm windows. Her stomach muscles tightened. She remembered scrambling away, the shame hot on her face.
She lay still, listening. Her roommates breathed deeply in their sleep. The room felt cold. The events with the groundskeeper and the strange girl named Marlena felt distant compared to the sharp, fresh memory of the ridicule. Facing the other students today seemed impossible.
Yet, routine demanded action. Elara pushed herself out of the cot, gathered her cheap soap and thin towel, and walked quietly down the corridor to the communal bathroom. Inside, fluorescent lights hummed. Another girl stood at the sinks, brushing her teeth. When Elara entered, the girl looked up, met Elara's eyes in the mirror for a second, then turned her body away, facing the wall as she continued brushing, humming a tuneless song. Elara went to the furthest shower stall. The water pressure was low, the temperature barely warm. She washed quickly, the plastic curtain providing minimal privacy, and dressed in her plainest gray skirt and white blouse.
Back in the dorm room, her roommates were stirring. They talked amongst themselves about classes and weekend plans, their voices bright. They did not acknowledge Elara's presence, though one girl glanced sideways at her with a small smirk before turning back to her conversation. "Honestly, some people just don't belong here," the roommate said to the others, adjusting her hair ribbon.
Elara left without a word. The walk to the dining hall was difficult. Students milled in the corridors, their voices echoing off the high ceilings. As Elara walked past small groups, conversations would pause, then resume in lower tones once she was out of direct earshot. She heard a muffled giggle from behind her. Near the entrance to the hall, a voice whispered loudly enough to be clearly heard, "Look, it's the pajama-wetter." Anger mixed with the embarrassment, tightening her chest. God, I wish they'd all just disappear, the thought formed sharp and clear in her mind.
She picked up a slice of dry toast from the serving line, bypassing the hot food she couldn't imagine eating. The dining hall was vast, filled with chatter and the clinking of cutlery. She found an empty spot at the far end of a long wooden table, positioning herself so her back faced most of the room. She could still feel the weight of attention, the awareness that she was the subject of gossip. It reminded her intensely of arriving at new foster homes, the immediate marking as an outsider.
When the bell rang, signaling the start of the first class period, the noise level in the hall increased as students gathered their belongings. Elara felt a wave of anxiety. The crowded hallways, the certainty of more whispers and stares – it was too much. She needed her History textbook from her locker, but more pressingly, she needed a few seconds away from everyone.
She headed towards the first-year locker section. The main flow of students was moving towards the academic wings, leaving this corridor relatively quiet. She stopped before the locker marked "E. VEYNE" and spun the combination dial. Her fingers felt clumsy. She just wanted to get the book and stand there for a moment, unseen.
The lock clicked. She pulled the metal door open.
Sitting directly on top of her few books was another book. It was bound in dark leather, the surface worn smooth in places, the corners frayed. It had no title. A tarnished brass clasp held it shut. It looked very old and did not belong with her school supplies. It hadn't been there when she placed her books inside yesterday.
A prank? Was this another part of the humiliation? She looked quickly up and down the corridor. It was empty. How had someone opened her locker?
Hesitantly, she picked the book up. It had a surprising physical weight. Using her fingernail, she lifted the small brass clasp. It opened with a faint metallic click.
She opened the cover. The paper inside was thick and yellowed with age. There was no name written on the first page. She turned the page. In the center, written in faded brown ink, in a looping handwriting style, were five words:
I wish they'd all disappear.
Elara froze. Her breathing stopped. That sentence – it wasn't just similar, it was the exact sequence of words that had formed in her head less than thirty minutes ago in the dining hall. The precise angry thought. She looked around the empty hallway again, her eyes wide. It was impossible. She hadn't spoken the words aloud. No one could have heard her think them. A cold sensation spread across her skin. The book in her hands suddenly felt alien.
The sharp, loud ringing of the final warning bell nearby made her jump. Reacting automatically, she snapped the diary shut. The clasp clicked firmly back into place. Without thinking further, she pushed the strange diary deep into her backpack, underneath the History textbook. It felt heavy and wrong in her bag.
She grabbed the required textbook, slammed the locker door shut – the sound loud in the relative quiet – and turned, hurrying towards her History class. The earlier shame was momentarily overshadowed by a profound, disturbing question echoing in her mind: How did it know? She glanced back at the locker banks, but the corridor remained empty. She felt a new, deeper sense of unease, as if her own private thoughts were no longer secure.