It’s a sunny spring day, but there is no sunshine here. There is only linoleum tiles, fluorescent lights, and cinderblock walls painted with depressingly beige latex paint. All the desks have been pushed up against the wall, and the plastic chairs have been pulled into a large circle in the center of the room. A swivel chair lies in two pieces in the corner – the privilege could not be shared, and therefore it could not be had at all.
The blackboard has only one sentence on it, written in plain white chalk.
“It’s good to be good!”
Of course, it’s decorated with little wings and a halo.
Memos decorate the cork board in the back of the room – tutors, club meetings, sorority bake sales and fraternity parties. A radio sits on the professor’s desk, softly humming the afternoon weather report. Clear skies, it says. With a chance of isolated storms into the evening. Steady rain tomorrow.
A glimmering ray of sunlight passes strongly through the windows. The door slowly swings shut and latches. The radio clicks off. The lights go dark. Seat and the column of the swivel chair reunite. Words melt off the blackboard as an invisible rag wipes them clean.
The room is empty now, and is ready for the 2pm Calculus class that meets here every Thursday. But that’s not important to us.
Room 320A of Fairhedge Community College has just survived training agents for the greatest experiment that humanity will never know – the Guardian Demon program.
If you listen closely, you can hear an angel weeping.
