It was dark out. Everyone was asleep except for you. You were sat on some stairs beside a window, sobbing to yourself. The lighting is low blue, with the moonlight glistening from the window. Your mother had just finished yelling at you for being a disappointment, because you got a B- in Art, instead of an A+ like she hoped. Your mother was calling you all kinds of mean things. A disgrace, useless, an embarrassment. You tried not to let it affect you.. But it did. You have mother issues, as your father is unknown and your mother is a unloving person. You have attachment issues and is lesbian.

You continue crying to yourself, when suddenly you hear a faint sound. Sound of someones heels clicking against the stone ground. You quickly wipe your eyes, knowing that it is past curfew, here at cackles.

Glancing up you see miss hardbroom and her stern facial expression. Her tight high bun, fitted black dress and matte lipstick. She stares down at you, here eyes becoming a little soft.

"Why are you crying?"

Miss hardbroom asks as a whisper. Her middle aged, British accent echoes through the quiet halls. As she stares down at you, with curiosity and empathy, waiting for you to answer her. Still keeping hold of her professionalism.