Atlas 1

I walked down the hall, my footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor. The air carried a faint scent of damp earth from the courtyard. I kept my pace steady, straight to my classroom for the first lecture of the day. I didn't want to reach the classroom when the lecture got engraved on the board. That would mean a sin, 'late'.

I stopped to look at the courtyard adjacent to the hallway. Though it wasn't a rule to do so, maybe it had become a habit. Harmless habits are definitely allowed. The grass glistened with tiny dewdrops. Each droplet shone like many pieces of shattered glass. I stepped closer to the iron bar between me and the greenery, my fingers brushing against the cold metal. The smell of the wet soil and damp leaves drifted toward me. I was always fond of this mouldy scent. A black rose hung from the bush nearby; its petals were still wet from the everyday rain. The shade from the sky shifted, and a streak of light glistened in the dewdrops, making them sparkle for just a moment. By the time my eyes moved to the sky, the clouds had already covered the sun again, leaving everything in muted grey again.

I sighed and walked back to the class. My shoes made a soft scuffing sound against the worn stones. A pair of black haired students in crisp and unwrinkled blazers walked past me quietly. Their steps were almost silent like they should be. One of them brushed a strand of hair from his face. Making me instinctively brush my hand in my black hair, feeling the familiar texture between my fingers.

When I entered my classroom, the new white haired girl sat in the corner reading her book. Her white coat caught my eye since it was a sharp contrast against the grey walls. White blazers look good too.

I shook my head. But I cannot wear white. It's only for the white haired students.

I sat down on my seat and pulled out my book. The wood of the desk was smooth beneath my palms. For a moment I thought it was odd that the desk was not worn down even after years of use. But then maybe it was not even that old. I flipped each page one after another, making sure I didn't create any noise. The paper rustled faintly. I didn't realise, but by the time I reached the chapter of the day, the classroom was full. Every student slowly flipped their pages, the sound blending into a soft, rhythmic hush.

I looked towards the board. The contents for today's lecture were engraved into it, deep lines carved into the dark surface. I read it slowly in my head. "Rules are meant to be followed. Breaking them unleashes consequences." This was our mantra to begin anything new to learn. The lecturer continued to read, "Learning from the elderly has been a part of history. They taught discipline and to honour silence. Today, you must read chapter 1 to understand how ancient life depicted their daily routines."

I turned to the book and began reading. The chapter was still the same. Revealing that the ancient civilizations adored art and used it as a means to convey their information. And we use that information to discipline ourselves since obedience is the only way to live multiple lives. I finally reached the point that was newly added. It read 'looking at a dead person's face must not be done.'

I recited it aloud in a joint chorus with my classmates. 'Looking at a dead person's face must not be done.' Our voices merged into one, filling the room and settling into the walls.

After that class we shifted rooms for the music lesson. On my way there I spotted a speck of dirt on the floor. How odd. I pulled out my handkerchief and wiped it. Rule ten stated stains invite unnecessary hurdles in one's life.

In the instrument's room the Black haired kids picked up their designated instruments of the harps and trumpets and the lutes, whereas the white haired ones were allowed to use any apart from these. I picked up my trumpet; I was glad I didn't have to play those pianos.

After the classes were done, the students gathered in the courtyard as usual so the principal would dismiss us for the day. The evening air had turned cooler, carrying the distant sound of the approaching wind gusts. The students stood divided into two sections: the black haired ones and the white haired ones. I could see the whites of their blazers glowing faintly under the dimming sky. As soon as the principal took the stage, a chorus of 'good day, sir' rose from the ground floor.

He adjusted the mic, and a smile erupted on his face. He waved at the students with both his hands. "Good day! My beloved students!" He pointed at someone in the crowd. "Hi, you!" he pointed again. "Hi, you!" He swayed his arms open as if he were about to embrace all the students. "Hi everyone!"

We clapped as he giggled for a while. His hat slipped on his face, almost falling down. He grabbed it and fixed it. "I hope you all had a wonderful day, and now the day is dismissed. You may carry on with your nightly duties."

"Yes, sir." Everyone stomped their feet once in unison, the sound echoing across the courtyard, and the day was officially done. The cloudy morning shifted into the usual starry night. The moon shone above our heads, casting long shadows across the stone. And soon everyone scattered away, their footsteps fading into different directions.

The principal had disappeared from the stage. But it wasn't like I wouldn't be seeing him again. I am the only student who visits his office each night. I do not recall when it started, but it was now a habit to visit him. Harmless habits are definitely allowed. For a long time I thought everyone did it until he told me that I was the only one. That made me slightly giddy because that meant I was special.

I walked to my usual spot at night. The corridor was a long one with paintings hung on either side, but I didn't dare look at them since watching the paintings at night is forbidden for the black haired ones. It's from Rule 1832: nightly admiration of art shall be avoided. The air in the corridor felt heavier, mixed with the scent of melting wax from the torches above each painting meant to illuminate the paths at night. Its flames flickered gently, casting warm pale hues across the floors and the walls.

I spotted that student again tonight. I didn't know if they were a boy or a girl because that didn't matter. What mattered was that they were a white-haired student in the corner, staring into a painting like always. 

They were so immersed that they didn't know I was approaching from behind. My heart beat fastened as I neared them. I could hear their soft breathing. I reached from behind.

This was my nightly ordeal.

I grabbed their neck and tightened my grip. I had closed my eyes to avoid seeing the dead. A familiar shriek escaped their mouth. Their skin was warm beneath my fingers, and I could feel the pulse racing against my palm. The student wailed and screamed. They tried to escape as their sharp and desperate voice echoed down the empty corridor. I pushed the student onto the floor, topping them there while I tightened further.

Their hands clawed at my arms, nails scraping against my sleeves. But I didn't let go until I heard a loud crack. The body went limp in my hands, and I felt the last tremors run through it before it became still. The warmth of the skin began to fade almost immediately.

My work is done.