David Marshall sat down at the desk in his dim office. The school day had been over for almost four hours. He’d been waiting for one student to come see him. One special student that he adored and who seemed to make his job worthwhile. Bailey Ray, quite possibly the most beautiful person, inside and out, that he’d ever seen. And sadly, she was the only student who would never come to see him again.

Bailey was dead. She’d died yesterday morning of cancer that had made her into a wraith that, by the end, was too weak to move her fingers to hold her mother’s hand while she left the world.

Stop thinking about that, David snapped at himself, burying his face in his hands. The thought of the girl he’d met in September, the one overflowing with life, was more than he could bear after watching her fade away to a ghost. Even reading her name brought tears to his eyes.

Oh God, Bailey, he thought. I feel like someone cut the world in half and took the half that you inhabited away. I hurt everywhere from not seeing you anymore.

David sat back in his chair and something caught his eye. In the middle of his desk was a note from the school office. He wondered how he could have missed it when he’d been in here before. The office used florescent orange paper that a blind person could have seen. Groaning inside, wondering what those filthy bureaucrats wanted now.

“Probably want you to start acting more like a teacher. Y’know, kick the Chucks and Dickies and start wearing patent leather and Dockers,” Bailey had said once to him. That was a week before she told him that she had cancer, he realized. Bailey had always gotten into trouble over things she said. He had told her once that it seemed like her day was wasted if she didn’t undermine authority at least once.

He pulled open the note and groaned as he saw the measured, anal-retentive script of the principle’s secretary, Anne Mirrin. Every single time she sent him a note, it meant some kind of reminder or order to do some kind of pathetic or tedious chore.

This time the heading said, “Finishing Up the Little Details.” Oh Christ, now what? he thought. He read on, glaring more and more with each line.

“Dear Mr. Marshall,

It has come to the attention of the administration that one of our students, Blain Raye, is no longer a student at this establishment. As such, we need to do a little house cleaning. All of Miss Raye’s past homework and class assignments must be collected and sent to the office by Friday morning. As she is no longer our student, there is no reason for us to continue to hold on to her papers. We will not be able to get her name off your class roster until Monday, but in the two Poetry classes you have left this week, you are not to read her name. There is no reason to allow her absence to distract the other members of the class.

“No response in needed to this memo. Have a nice day.

“Anne Mirrin, Principle’s Secretary”

David fought back the urge to find the woman and rip her apart. Bailey wasn’t even in her grave yet and here the school was, breathless with glee at being able to get rid of her. He wasn’t about to just forget about Bailey so quickly.

He thought about driving home, but he didn’t feel like leaving just yet. He pulled a stack of yellow files towards him. Each one of them contained an assignment from his poetry class. He hadn’t graded the last ten assignments yet. They were fairly straight forward, short poems, things that wouldn’t taken him long to grade at all. Maybe ten minutes each. He opened the oldest one, from two weeks ago, and picked up the first paper.

He felt like the breath had just been forced out of his lungs. It was Bailey’s paper. Seeing her curvy writing sprawled across the page made his whole body constrict.

The assignment had been to write something about nature. He forced himself to focus on that, to not think about how she’d looked when he’d delivered the list of that week’s homework assignments. He straightened the paper and started to read.

“Elemental Song

By: Bailey Ray

The Earth changes.

The stones cry out with a coming change.

Trees shudder in an unfeelable wind.

The Mountains awaken.

They have heard the song of Olde.

Φ

The Fire changes.

The light is bright as a thousand stars.

The heat is more intense than Dragon-stare.

The Flamewraiths awaken.

The have heard the song of Olde.

Φ

The Water changes.

It’s path as quick as a desert wind

It’s cold pieces like a dagger.

The Nymphs awaken.

They have heard the song of Olde.

Φ

The Wind changes.

It carries messages to secret caverns.

It curls around the spires of castles.

The Windsingers awaken.

They have heard the song of old.

Φ

The Elements sing a song

A song of the one who will give them their revenge.

His hand was shaking so bad that David couldn’t even hold the pen steady enough to write down a grade. In his heart, he knew how pointless it was to give her a grade. It wasn’t like Bailey would be in class tomorrow to find out that she got yet another 100. She’d never be there, never again.

Before he knew it, he was crying deep racking sobs. So many things he’d never find out about her. He’d never get to ask her what Flamewraiths or Windsingers were. He’d never get the chance to listen to her reading her poetry. A part of his life was just gone. He wouldn’t ever get the chance to see her again.

He couldn’t stand it. He had to be away from the school, from the office and classroom and halls that still echoed with her laughter. He had to stop dwelling on her for a little while. Do something, anything, that would stop his mind.

I’m twenty-four and drive a new Mustang, he thought. There’s got to be someone willing to spend a little time with me.

Without a second thought, he hurried out of his office and through his silent classroom. As he shut the door, he heard the smallest ghost of a laugh, the soft, almost mocking laugh that Bailey had no matter what. But it wasn’t until he went to open his car door that he realized he was still holding on to her poem.

So, this is my new story. Please review, I'd like some imput on this one. Enjoy the next chapters as well.