I feel.. dead. I feel like, I have died, but no one realizes it.
Every year, there is a whole group of pages dedicated to school leavers. Every year, every Sector 5 Legionnaire will write a memoir, and have their pictures taken for that page. To let the whole school know what they thought of the school, their appreciation and farewells.
To be with each other and remember each other in the years to come when they pull out that little book once more, and reminisce every student and classmate they had. To see their pictures and read their teary memoirs.
It has not been so for me. I must be the first Legionnaire in ages, to be left out of those grand pages.
My memoir has been written, and even checked by High Commander of the First Language, Madam Shafeullah.
It was not printed with my other comrades.
I will be the only Legionnaire totally erased from the schools only time capsule for us Legionnaires.
I will be the only one, no one can remember in 40 years, because I was not remembered in the magazine itself.
You know what it feels like?
It feels like death. It feels like I've died a lonely death, but no one came to my funeral.
Actually, it feels like I wasn't even GIVEN a funeral.
Thank you, St. Andrew's, for all the memories. For that shall be the only thing you've given me.
Memories, and nothing else.
The Padfutonian
End of current Journal
The Padfutonian
Tyler Schoarnnoth Padfoot
The 18th of February, 1992 A.D.
'Once upon a wintery midnight...'
Fort ISB, Elite Guard of the International Baccalureate