Death at a Childhood


I return to the old Montessori school I attended from birth until first grade. I smile to see that it still has the three doors, one yellow, one, blue, and one red, just how I remember it. I walk through the blue door, my door, and inside, what was once a two-story building has been entirely carved out into a huge empty shell with high ceilings.

Cobwebs are hanging off of everything and it looks more like an abandoned industrial site. The mortar is chipping off the brick walls and a huge wooden structure has been constructed in the middle of the room. A gallows, seemingly as old as the rest of the building, sporting a long noose, but the rope is brand new.


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