my old school

As I was walking down the empty hallway for the last time, all the memory came rushing back. The laughter, the hurried footsteps, the rattling locks and talks of random—the very essence of high school now becomes an illusion to me. This school was a second home to me. Preserved in itself was the reminiscence of those good and bad times, of tears and laughter, of excitement and anxiety, of friends and teachers. It was an unwritten journal of my adolescence life. The thought of leaving it behind was unbearable.
It was a Saturday morning, the day after school had ended. I ...