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Journalism dungeon: part two

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Brennan Guilds hiding out in the journalism

Brennan Guilds hiding out in the journalism "dungeon."

Sarah Elbeshbishi

Sarah Elbeshbishi

Brennan Guilds hiding out in the journalism "dungeon."


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Room Z-6703. Before you stands a tall trapezoidal door that tapers towards the top. It’s deep wood grain and light grey color gives it a Tim Burton-esque feel. Thunder crackles lightly in the background followed by lightning a few seconds later. The handles to the door are large iron rings, at least 7 inches in diameter and weighed fifteen pounds each.

Pushing open the door you can see rows upon rows of computers with blackboards on either side of the walls. Everything is lit by the warm glow of fluorescent lights. It’s quite hot in the room and it’s not long before you realize why; two air conditioning units lie in a pile of scrap metal at the base of the wall all the way at the back of the room.

You spot a familiar silhouette before you sitting at an L-shaped desk furiously typing and incomprehensible mumbling about “editing” and “deadlines” and “Lax Bros.” The floor begins to creak as you shift your weight and suddenly the figure notices you. Quick, she turns around. Angrily, her mouth begins to form a frown and then a smile. It’s the teacher.

“You decided to join us!” she exclaimed happily.

“Yeah, I guess I did,” you say, sounding somewhat surprised.

“We are glad to have you here,” she can barely hide a sinister smirk beneath her face.

“We? Who is we?” you reply confused with an undertone of fear.

“Everyone.”

Quickly, skeletons begin to fill the room. Pouring through the vents in the ceiling, doors and any other crack or crevice. Looks of fear frozen on their faces. You stand in your place stunned before you begin to feel the floor move beneath you.

Looking down quickly, you only just glimpse the tiles fall away before your feet as you begin to plummet down a dark and damp tunnel straight down. The fall doesn’t end as your view of the light begins to vanish and your vision blurs.

You awake to blinding lights and tight restraints on your feet and stomach that bind you to an ordinary school chair that appears to be built into the floor. Before you is a blinking monitor and a worn down keyboard. On the monitor is just a flashing cursor patiently waiting for input via the keyboard.

Above the monitor is a sticky note that just says WRITE in thick black sharpie. Instinctively, your hands mount the keyboard to begin writing only occasionally when you finish will the text disappear, sent off to the website and another blank prompt will appear.

Legend says you are still writing to this day.

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The student news site of Watkins Mill High School
Journalism dungeon: part two