Perfect Attendance Poem by Andreanna Atkins

The stench of the room
was that of spoiled raw fish.
Everyone was looking around,
searching for its host.

The bell rang,
students charged out
like roaches escaping
light;

Two minutes until our next class.

Walking into the restroom,
a trail of blood
led me to her.

There, sitting
on the floor,
waste creeping down her legs,
tears streaming down her face,
her pants and underwear were
in the sink above her head.

As she fixed her mouth
to speak to me,
the late bell rang.

I turned,
and rushed to my next class.