The A-Wing Mystery

Trapped inside these suspended, ceiling-less walls, I sense something malicious afoot.
It’s 12:21 PM. Fifth mod has begun, cold and dim, because it’s always cold and dim in a bunker. Dean’s LE1 lecture drones on in the distance; some peaceful war movie ejects guttural screams from Smith’s class. And underneath it all, a strange malaise has stolen over the A-wing population.
An attentive silence, maybe? But at IMSA?
A peaceful post-lunch slumber, then?
Or — DEATH?
Heart quickening, I realize the oddity of it all. One hundred sleepwalkers, lulled into the lapping hums of teachers’ lectures. No lights to look out for danger. No windows through which to make our escape.
Indeed, this is the stuff of stories — mystery stories. Why, really, are there open ceilings? Is it so that axes can fall on our heads? What — or who — is actually screaming from Smith’s room? Are there really so many sophomores that no one can keep track of them, or could half of them be rotting in the dumpster, unnoticed and unseen (as usual)? And why does Sodexo never seem to run out of chicken?
Happy Halloween, readers. Isn’t life at IMSA exciting?