Smoked Out (CLFM 39)

For some reason I was drawn to a local school. A small place barely enough to hold a hundred children of varying ages.

Les and I walked in, almost invisible to the staff and kids. At least no one reacted as if we were there.

We made our way to the principals office. It was there that the stink of wrongness drew me. I didn’t once question why I could sense this now. Too many things had happened to me to really care. The principal, as it turned out, didn’t care either.

He was dead.

Executed, and from the stuff scattered on the floor and desk, a bad drug deal.

“This isn’t it,” I said to Les. The wrongness was here, but not here. This was supposed to have happened, something else wasn’t.

“Take a look round,” I told him. “I want to know what is going down here.”

Les didn’t question, argue or threaten, he just went. I went too, in the other direction. It was hard, trying to avoid the rush of kids heading home, but soon the corridors and rooms were empy, vacant. Only the stink of wrongness left.

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