As she walked through those same old iron gates, she took in the sights of her school with eyes different to those of her past six years. The buildings stood indifferent to time, strong and steady, mocking her. What did she think would happen? A collapse in the system? A decay in the buildings? No not even that, she would have been content with any visible change at all. She questioned her idiocy at her expectation of change at the loss of a grade, her grade.
It was the lifeblood of the school, its single purpose. Six years of growth in its classrooms, halls and playground, and those unbreakable bonds made in year seven to the close friends left in year twelve. From the clapping in by the entire school, the five years above us, to the clapping out by the five years below us. The school would remain for years to come; unaware of the loss each year, but to each student leaving, the memories made and bonds formed would be an imparting gift, its influence never fading.
Graduation was a periodic, everlasting and unalterable process.
A/N: Just getting back into the process of writing so excuse the poor attempt and cliché subject matter.
edit: 05/02/12
A/N: A few lines from "The Last Queen" by C.W.Gortner which I found perfectly befitting what I was trying to portray.
