Posted: Mon Nov 30, 2020 5:54 am
Thursday, June 11th , 2020, 1123 hours local time.
Winfield Elementary School, Nauchrtenkiapitell.
Winfield Elementary School was a typical government school affair on the capitol island, if larger than most newer schools. A large central corps de logis with two wings, housed the eleven hundred students during the day. The buildings were built in the first half of the twentieth-century, and still carried the hallmarks of such classical architecture, but continually upgraded into the modern century. The cour d'honneur contained the main entrance into the reception area, and as well the “Front-Yard '' meant for the older student, with ample seating, both open and more private, closed in with bushes and flower beds, or small open pavilions. Here the students in 7-9th grade would spend the longer times between classes, when such a luxury was afforded, as well as on the sports-fields, when such were not in use by the PT classes.
On a normal day students here would walk, chat, do homework, and do what else children aged fourteen to seventeen do when not being ground and molded by the educational system, yet not free to leave its grounds. Among the pupils, clad in neat school uniforms, Teachers and Assistants would patrol the grounds, standing out from a regular adult by a brassard carrying the school name and logo, and the text “Duty Staff”.
But this was no normal day, the front yard lay empty and barren. Bar a singular teachers assistant, who stood there to catch any latecomers. Likewise so the reception and corridors were empty and lacking the distinct hubbub of a school bursting with life, yet for a custodian taking the calm opportunity to get some particularly old and stubborn grime off the walls and doorways.
But the Assembly Hall was an exception to this, the large room, with a stage in the front and second half-floor with a grand total of six hundred seats, would not look out of place hosting a concert or dance, and this was a purpose that it was used for with some regularity. But today this was not its purpose, rather on the stage stood a singular table, some papers on it, and a large, heavy, old chair behind it - flanked on either side by smaller, but equally old chairs, In the central chair, like so many with the posting before, sat the First Headmaster, overall in charge of the school, and at this particular school in charge of the “Upper-Elementary '' classes, that is, seventh to ninth grade.
Flanked on her right sat the School Administrator, and on her left the First Teacher for the 9th grade students. This teacher was responsible for overall planning of the school year together with the other teachers, so that the class would receive all the education mandated by the National Agency for Education.
These three postings made up the most senior, and traditionally prestigious, postings at a state school, and today they had the duty to send the students away for the summer, or atleast, most of the students. For the 9th graders another fate was in store, for they would soon have to drop the descriptor “child”.
In front of the First Headmaster, the roughly one-hundred and twenty students who were now leaving 9th grade. All the other upper classes have just been dismissed to leave by class into the awaiting small army of parents, family and loved ones waiting in the “back-yard” of the school.
In this cluster of students, occupying the front rows of the hall, sat Erika Walin, soon formerly of class 9C. She had rehearsed for this for several days now in her head. The First Headmaster would announce a few smaller-scholarships to individual students, “Best result in National Test” and the such, the money to be used to further the relevant interest in the student when they start High School, the next level of mandatory schooling.
After that she would say a few parting words, as would the first teacher, the Mentors for each class already having said their own during the morning time spent together, as tradition demanded eating breakfast and, for most, enjoying the last few hours of time they had together as students of this school, talking, reminiscing. Such were the emotions that even the loners in every class tended to join in, for ahead lay something new, and relatively unknown. For the teachers this to was a time of emotion, they had followed the class for three years, being their mentor they had been ultimately responsible, and acted as as scholarly-parental figure, educating and trying as best they could to prepare the pupils under them for what laid ahead, now and in the future. They had seen them develop from the children they were in 7th grade, to the young adults that they now where, 16 or 17 years of age.
Erika listened to the First Headmaster deliver the scholarships to the lucky pupils, who walked upon the stage, took the hand of the three seated, and then took their diploma, before returning to the seat they came from under polite mandated applause from their peers.
So too she listened to the two speeches, it was your typical “thank you for your time, you can be proud of yourself, now go forth and never waiver” - type of speech, but the words did not sound hollow, they did mean it, as they did every year when they delivered, if not ad verbum, at least a similar speech with the same core ideas.
And so it was, that the end of this tradition was coming to its end, and the Headmaster again stood up and spoke “Graduating classes shall now prepare to be dismissed by class. When dismissed, file out via the closest door, await instructions in the waiting hall. Class A - Dismissed” she said, and at the end of her words Class 9A did as they were told, stood up from their seating, and in a semi-ordered line, left the large hall. As the last student left, the headmaster read out the next class, and the next, and so on, until the hall was empty bar the three adults seated on the scene.
Erik followed her classmates as they shuffled out from the seating lines, and into the walkways, and headed for the doorways, into the waiting hall. The hall was just a empty room used to hold guests and visitors before opening the doors into the meeting hall, attached to it with a desk was a coat room, where you could either walk in and hang your own coat, or at larger events, staff for said event could take care of such for you, for a fee of course.
But such was not its purpose today, for by the long desk-opening sat two women, and one man, all wearing light grey suits, white shirts and a dark blue tie with a tie pin in the shape of a emblem; the emblem of the National Defence Recruitment Agency. On either side, and flanking the doors into freedom, and awaiting family and loved ones stood soldiers in dress uniform, carrying the insignia of the Military Police, as well as a brassard on the right upper arm, spelling it out in large white block letters.
The students formed into the rough shape of three lines in front of those that would now deliver what fate awaited the, now-former students for the next two years. Erika happened to end up on the front, and as the last those of her parallel class were given their verdict she was motioned forward to the suited man.
“Class, Number, and name?” he asked with the a severe lack of interest or care, just as those in charge of the tests conducted during spring break a few months earlier had done, Erika mused that the only people in this agency that seemed to even pretend to be anything but a drone was the psychological staff, whom had conducted interviews, to understand what made the students tick.
“Class C9, 030514-52147, Walin, Erika” she replied, and did her best to seem unfazed by what lay ahead, as the drone shuffled the collection of papers, and then produced a document, comparing the picture on file to that of the girl in front of him, before handing it over to her. She accepted it, and stepped quickly out of line, as the drone pressed a button on his laptop, and then drew a line over her name on the paper list.
She glanced at the paper as she exited the room, into the sunlight outside, and then curiosity won over, and she stepped out of the way, and folded open the paper, she skimmed the non-important parts, her test and evaluation scores and formalities, until she reached the lines she was looking for;
She chuckled at the ending, a threat, to those that would seek to dodge paying back to society, not that she had any such inclination, like most of her peers, she was looking forward to it, to pay back what she had been given, to serve her nation. To develop into her own person, to test her limits and so forth, A product of her schooling.
She was not all happy however as she started to walk towards the small ensemble of her family and relatives, she had been assigned as a grunt, she had wished for a position in either the kitchens, or in the medical arms of the force, maybe even a civilian posting. Maybe she could ask for a transferee after having completed the basic two month general training. But for now, no such luck was in store for her.
Winfield Elementary School, Nauchrtenkiapitell.
Winfield Elementary School was a typical government school affair on the capitol island, if larger than most newer schools. A large central corps de logis with two wings, housed the eleven hundred students during the day. The buildings were built in the first half of the twentieth-century, and still carried the hallmarks of such classical architecture, but continually upgraded into the modern century. The cour d'honneur contained the main entrance into the reception area, and as well the “Front-Yard '' meant for the older student, with ample seating, both open and more private, closed in with bushes and flower beds, or small open pavilions. Here the students in 7-9th grade would spend the longer times between classes, when such a luxury was afforded, as well as on the sports-fields, when such were not in use by the PT classes.
On a normal day students here would walk, chat, do homework, and do what else children aged fourteen to seventeen do when not being ground and molded by the educational system, yet not free to leave its grounds. Among the pupils, clad in neat school uniforms, Teachers and Assistants would patrol the grounds, standing out from a regular adult by a brassard carrying the school name and logo, and the text “Duty Staff”.
But this was no normal day, the front yard lay empty and barren. Bar a singular teachers assistant, who stood there to catch any latecomers. Likewise so the reception and corridors were empty and lacking the distinct hubbub of a school bursting with life, yet for a custodian taking the calm opportunity to get some particularly old and stubborn grime off the walls and doorways.
But the Assembly Hall was an exception to this, the large room, with a stage in the front and second half-floor with a grand total of six hundred seats, would not look out of place hosting a concert or dance, and this was a purpose that it was used for with some regularity. But today this was not its purpose, rather on the stage stood a singular table, some papers on it, and a large, heavy, old chair behind it - flanked on either side by smaller, but equally old chairs, In the central chair, like so many with the posting before, sat the First Headmaster, overall in charge of the school, and at this particular school in charge of the “Upper-Elementary '' classes, that is, seventh to ninth grade.
Flanked on her right sat the School Administrator, and on her left the First Teacher for the 9th grade students. This teacher was responsible for overall planning of the school year together with the other teachers, so that the class would receive all the education mandated by the National Agency for Education.
These three postings made up the most senior, and traditionally prestigious, postings at a state school, and today they had the duty to send the students away for the summer, or atleast, most of the students. For the 9th graders another fate was in store, for they would soon have to drop the descriptor “child”.
In front of the First Headmaster, the roughly one-hundred and twenty students who were now leaving 9th grade. All the other upper classes have just been dismissed to leave by class into the awaiting small army of parents, family and loved ones waiting in the “back-yard” of the school.
In this cluster of students, occupying the front rows of the hall, sat Erika Walin, soon formerly of class 9C. She had rehearsed for this for several days now in her head. The First Headmaster would announce a few smaller-scholarships to individual students, “Best result in National Test” and the such, the money to be used to further the relevant interest in the student when they start High School, the next level of mandatory schooling.
After that she would say a few parting words, as would the first teacher, the Mentors for each class already having said their own during the morning time spent together, as tradition demanded eating breakfast and, for most, enjoying the last few hours of time they had together as students of this school, talking, reminiscing. Such were the emotions that even the loners in every class tended to join in, for ahead lay something new, and relatively unknown. For the teachers this to was a time of emotion, they had followed the class for three years, being their mentor they had been ultimately responsible, and acted as as scholarly-parental figure, educating and trying as best they could to prepare the pupils under them for what laid ahead, now and in the future. They had seen them develop from the children they were in 7th grade, to the young adults that they now where, 16 or 17 years of age.
Erika listened to the First Headmaster deliver the scholarships to the lucky pupils, who walked upon the stage, took the hand of the three seated, and then took their diploma, before returning to the seat they came from under polite mandated applause from their peers.
So too she listened to the two speeches, it was your typical “thank you for your time, you can be proud of yourself, now go forth and never waiver” - type of speech, but the words did not sound hollow, they did mean it, as they did every year when they delivered, if not ad verbum, at least a similar speech with the same core ideas.
And so it was, that the end of this tradition was coming to its end, and the Headmaster again stood up and spoke “Graduating classes shall now prepare to be dismissed by class. When dismissed, file out via the closest door, await instructions in the waiting hall. Class A - Dismissed” she said, and at the end of her words Class 9A did as they were told, stood up from their seating, and in a semi-ordered line, left the large hall. As the last student left, the headmaster read out the next class, and the next, and so on, until the hall was empty bar the three adults seated on the scene.
Erik followed her classmates as they shuffled out from the seating lines, and into the walkways, and headed for the doorways, into the waiting hall. The hall was just a empty room used to hold guests and visitors before opening the doors into the meeting hall, attached to it with a desk was a coat room, where you could either walk in and hang your own coat, or at larger events, staff for said event could take care of such for you, for a fee of course.
But such was not its purpose today, for by the long desk-opening sat two women, and one man, all wearing light grey suits, white shirts and a dark blue tie with a tie pin in the shape of a emblem; the emblem of the National Defence Recruitment Agency. On either side, and flanking the doors into freedom, and awaiting family and loved ones stood soldiers in dress uniform, carrying the insignia of the Military Police, as well as a brassard on the right upper arm, spelling it out in large white block letters.
The students formed into the rough shape of three lines in front of those that would now deliver what fate awaited the, now-former students for the next two years. Erika happened to end up on the front, and as the last those of her parallel class were given their verdict she was motioned forward to the suited man.
“Class, Number, and name?” he asked with the a severe lack of interest or care, just as those in charge of the tests conducted during spring break a few months earlier had done, Erika mused that the only people in this agency that seemed to even pretend to be anything but a drone was the psychological staff, whom had conducted interviews, to understand what made the students tick.
“Class C9, 030514-52147, Walin, Erika” she replied, and did her best to seem unfazed by what lay ahead, as the drone shuffled the collection of papers, and then produced a document, comparing the picture on file to that of the girl in front of him, before handing it over to her. She accepted it, and stepped quickly out of line, as the drone pressed a button on his laptop, and then drew a line over her name on the paper list.
She glanced at the paper as she exited the room, into the sunlight outside, and then curiosity won over, and she stepped out of the way, and folded open the paper, she skimmed the non-important parts, her test and evaluation scores and formalities, until she reached the lines she was looking for;
REPORTED MEDICAL ISSUES - NO SUITED FOR WEAPON SERVICE - YES ASSIGNED PRELIMINARY STATION - GUNNER, INFANTRY SECTION ASSIGNED PRELIMINARY UNIT - 21ND GUARDS DRAGOON REGIMENT REPORTING STATION - WINFIELD ELEMENTARY SCHOOL, MAIN PARKING LOT - JUNE 13TH 0800 HOURS LOCAL FAILURE TO REPORT AS ORDERED, FOR ANY REASON, IS A CRIME |
She chuckled at the ending, a threat, to those that would seek to dodge paying back to society, not that she had any such inclination, like most of her peers, she was looking forward to it, to pay back what she had been given, to serve her nation. To develop into her own person, to test her limits and so forth, A product of her schooling.
She was not all happy however as she started to walk towards the small ensemble of her family and relatives, she had been assigned as a grunt, she had wished for a position in either the kitchens, or in the medical arms of the force, maybe even a civilian posting. Maybe she could ask for a transferee after having completed the basic two month general training. But for now, no such luck was in store for her.