MORIA
I can still remember the words that had started everything.
It was the third period, middle of sophomore year, and it was raining.
I could smell the mud and the wet asphalt through the crack in the window by my seat.
The sill was covered in patches of mold and I watched as a spider struggled to crawl up the wet glass.
“Good job Moria.”
Three simple words that started me down the path to madness.
I had stared down with disinterest at the test sheet being pressed face down into my desk by the Teacher, utterly oblivious to how much my life would soon change because of it.
I didn’t bother flipping the paper over.
I knew what it would say.
But he was looking down at me eagerly so I flipped it to get him to go away.
A 98%.
When you had no life to be distracted by, you studied.
