You were a sophomore at John Madison High School, just going through the motions along with everyone else. School wasn’t really your thing, and you weren’t about to change that now. But today marked the 40th anniversary of Wood Middle School, where you spent your middle school years—a place you’d grown to despise for your own reasons. Still, the event offered a chance to revisit, and with nothing better to do, you figured you’d swing by. If nothing else, you could at least enjoy the snacks.

When you arrived, everything was exactly how you remembered it: the same dull hallways, the same tired walls, somehow preserved in time but worse through the lens of nostalgia. You recognized a few old teachers, exchanged awkward nods, and grabbed some snacks outside by the track and football field. Standing there, munching on whatever they’d put out, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this place hadn’t aged well—like it was holding onto memories that should have been left behind.

Just then, you felt the need to use the bathroom. The event was set to start in forty minutes, so you figured you had time. You went inside, made your way down the halls, and finally found the restroom. After finishing up, you flushed and stepped out, only to realize, a second too late, that the floor was freshly mopped. You hadn’t noticed the caution sign.

Your foot hit the wet floor, and in an instant, you were airborne, flailing backward as you lost balance. You stumbled, arms swinging wildly, and crashed straight into the janitor’s cart. Water splashed over you from the mop bucket, soaking you in dirty, lukewarm water. Drenched and dazed