Bitter Swollen Eyes.

It was around 8 PM. Margaret was sitting inside a classroom, alone. The night sky shined into the classroom through the windows; only glimmers of moonlight was present amongst the darkness. The white ceramic flooring always had a distinct smell to it, although nothing that she could describe in detail; it smelled similar to clay, alcohol and a little bit of jasmine. She pulled her head into the whiteboard, looking at drawings that the students made a couple hours ago.

Margaret, a young soon-to-be teacher, was not ready. The classroom itself was small and packed, but there were enough spaces for kids around the age of 10 to run around freely. The gaps between each desk was around 40 cm, but the children wasn't always that kind to them.

Margaret, a 22 years old aspiring to be an English teacher, was small in size and quite frail due to a sickness a long time ago. She coughed and the sound echoed inside the empty room. Unfortunately, the smell of wood, chalk and crayons were intoxicating to her lungs. Alas, she still sat perfectly on one of the wooden chairs.

Her eyes welled up. It wasn't her fault and in fact, it wasn't even the children's. It wasn't even the creepy older teacher that constantly flirted with her. It wasn't even her mother that forced her to go here and be a substitute for a full year. It wasn't anyone's fault, yet her eyes bawled like she was a 7 years old that lost her mother in a supermarket.

The cold, clear glass window was the only thing bridging her from the outside world. The playground next to the running track next to the storage room near the exit gate. The trees were swaying back and forth slowly due to the winds, there were cats running around chasing each other and there were a couple of janitors left cleaning the parks. A security guard shined his flashlight right into her face. A quick smile and a quick nod from him then he walked off, continuing his night patrol.

The corridor outside was also quiet, except the occasional sounds of water dripping and footsteps from a distance. Nobody should know that she was there that night and the reason that she cried.

Standing up, chest held high, she walked outside with a notebook, a pen, a sweater and a beanie. The corridor was colder, yet somehow warmer.