A tear fell from my eye as I grasped the doorknob with my gloved hand. My tears had been collecting in my goggles; they felt so cold against my face.

I stood outside the door, staring at the name above it. It was barely legible through the layer of mold that covered it. My mind said to go in, but my body refused; Two parts of my heart were waging war. Maybe that’s why my chest felt so heavy.

I finally convinced myself to go in—to try to find a remnant of hope in a sea of desperation. I enterred with nostalgia; the classroom looked so different, but I thought for a moment that I could hear familiar voices. Soon, though, all I could here was water—unpitying waves slamming against the walls. The watermark was quite prominent, taunting me from above my head. My nostrils were flooded with a fowl odor. The scent permeated my respirator and tickled my tastebuds, leaving the unpleasant taste of soggy textbooks and mold in my mouth and on my mind for many years to come. At this moment, Hope was lost.