Undead Graduation

East Rilling: an exclusive private academy that offers an invaluable education to prepare high school graduates for college, university...and their future.

David always smirked in amusement at that last bit, that little bit of vague 'wow-factor' that was supposed to justify the five figure enrolment price tag to every parent with too much money, and too little faith in their kid.

In reality it was just high school's direct-to-video sequel, complete with uniforms, stuffy little classrooms occupied by stuffy little teachers, and the exact social cliches David had desperately wanted to escape, that these people should have long since outgrown. He could see each one as he passed them in the bustling glass hallways, like depressing little exhibits at a zoo; the Jocks bragging about gains and conquests, the freakishly dilligent honour students, flicking through fat binders filled with schedules and timetables, the socially oblivious nerds with enough anime merch on them and their bags to a small titan, even a couple of goths tucked away in a corner, busy painting their fingernails a nice shade of glossy black.

It was such a fucking embarrassment to be counted among these spoilt, socially stunted fuckwits, with barely a morsel of self-awareness to go around. David wondered if all rich kids were the same. It'd definitely explain why some many grew up into such immature assholes. Maybe money and prestige stunts development the same way getting dropped on your head as a baby does.

David gets to feel satisfied with himself for coming to that conclusion for all of ten seconds, until Genevive struts passed with her usual hangers-on, just to remind him, as his gaze habitually follows her round, swaying ass, that he wasn't much better.

At their age, a school uniform composed of a pleated skirt and a button up shirt does more to make them resemble a student in a porno rather than an actual one, not that Genevive needed any help in that department; she was the first back at his old high school to grow into some boobs, and god knows she knew how to wield her newfound sexuality like a lethal weapon. Nowadays, it was more like a nuclear warhead.

She was frustratingly gorgeous, with tanned skin smooth and shiny like silk, a slender, perfect waist, a bust with perkiness and heft you could only hope to match with extensive surgery or one hell of a push up bra, meticulously maintained, golden curly locks that hung down her back, and full, pursed, ruby red lips.

It's just a shame she was such a vain bitch. The fact he's still embarrassingly infatuated with her, despite years of mocking and insults, an even bigger one.

The two pass with only one noticing the other, the archetype queen bee busy droning on about...who cares what, probably something petty and nasty about someone else, with Elsie and Annie in tow; pretty girls in their own right, red-head Elsie having the lean, skinny figure of a former cheerleader who still did yoga, and the brunette Annie rocking a well-knit braid and the proud title of 'blowjob queen', earned by virtue of both quality and quantity.

David leaves the bustling corridor, passed the teacher's lounge, out the open fire escape on the second floor (propped open with a brick by the staff's habitual smokers) and up the metal staircase on the outside of the building, squatting on his favorite perch as he pulls out a pack of cigarettes and pops one in his mouth. Giving a quick once-over around him for witnesses, he pulls out a lighter and sets his cigarette alight, enjoying a long drag on it's skinny white length, before blowing out a ring of smoke.

This is about as zen as it gets for David, sat on his cold staircase, hunched over, looking out at the long, green horizon of the Academy's grounds, a private half-acre of nothing but lush green field, and a single roadway leading up to the school's looming metal gates. Usually he gets pretty introspective up here, thinking about his life, how little of it he actually got to dictate. Mostly he just felt sorry for himself, then he'd get angry with himself for being a rich kid whining about being rich; shit happens, least you've got a loaded family, a fat juicy trust fund, and a guaranteed position at dad's law firm, whether you want it or not.

But right now, he didn't feel like enduring those mental gymnastics. Right now, he just wants to suck on his third cigarette of the day and ride that sweet nicotine high as he fantasises about ruining Genevieve's gag reflex. He gets right about to the point where his imaginary lover's opening wide for the aeroplane, when he jolts up at the sound of rattling metal.