Och its offay frightenin. ah cannae believe how big they forks are, aw stabbin doon at us. the forks an the knives an the spoons aw cutting an choppin oor bodies up intae bits. Ah hear it yisee, cos we’ve aw got the throughspeak. It’s whit we are here, in the hall.
Ah wis hearin fae the spicy pakora oan the aer side. cheers whenivir wan ae thum smashes a plate. Chipped broon wooden trays were sayin tae plates, “dinnae leave me” an feelin the scrape, the give, the centre fallin oot. Then air, then smash, then aw ay thum shoutin, an laughin at wan ay oor lot dyin. Bits skiddin an disappearin under the dark places. the lunchboxes bein clicked open, shut. Polite hubbub ay noise.
Thur voices are offay weird. They dinnae speak like us: jist wan tae wan. Getting allowed in wan at a time by yon “prefects.” hierarchies already in place.
Wan ay them goat stung by a wasp: wis aw screamin an cryin. Noo they ken jist a wee bit ay how it feels. Wasp wis laughin, telt us aw aboot it.
Custard is screamin. solidifying under the lights denied its natural consistency. vomitous melt, sufferin. Spooned intae the bowls which dinnae like it either. Then awaw tae the other place. Wi thum.
Ye sense the the fear ae thum also the nervousness aboot goin intae the hall when the hall is nearly empty and the food is nearly all dead. Nae sounds apart fae bubblin an gurgling. Meat lettin oot juices. Last gasps ay intelligence. Some ae the meats remember their last times as they die. Huvvin the legs, like thum.
Tryin tae avoid each other. the wans they dinnae like, the wans they dinnae trust. Some ay them will kill each other. Chlorine in the baths, that comes tae us.
Teachers the “high-up heid yins” aw cordoned oaf at thur ain tables. Click-clack ay the cutlery. Swallow-slurp. Noise noise.
Aw the trapped smell, smell ay evvrythin. Smell ay us livin an dying. Smell ae plastic and nae air. Wannae ken whit that is: smell ay fear. Oor journey intae afterlife. Food intae trash. Or whitivver comes next.
Steam behind the hot plate, curtain ae oor origin. The milkshakes shakin in thur cups. Squeaky noise ay thur feets oan the floor. Caramel shortbread says thir’s no much left. cracked chocolate an bleeding caramel, stuck tae thur mouths, goin doon intae the belly where we aw begin tae begin again.
Tuna sangwitches in wan ay the “computer rooms.” The report wis not good. The enemy wis playin a game where wee animals chucked themselves oaf a cliff. Death aw the way.
Some ay them go roond the corner shop where they say, dae ye want red sauce or broon sauce. Both ur the same.
If ye were born tae die… then ye dinnae huv tae be afraid ay dyin.
But we ur. we ur.