Purge.stuy.edu

The schoolwide Purges started without warning. The school’s traditionally high SAT scores had dropped an unacceptable 50 points below last year’s 1600 average. Officials from the Department of Education had decided that allowing the school one day a year to unleash its pent up tension/stress/anger would allow students to focus better on their studies for the rest of the year. Besides, it would help weed out the students who had been blessed by RNG on the day of the SHSAT or had bribed their proctor with a handful of Ben Franklins. Fewer students would mean more money that could be spent on that 11th-floor jacuzzi—AHEM, I meant quality facilities for students.

A group of boys tumbled out of the second-floor bathroom followed by a cloud of JUUL smoke, laughing as they headed to class.

“Hey guys, here are today’s morning announcements! My name is Marky Mark,” Marky Mark said cheerfully.

“And my name is Char-Char,” Char-Char said. Everyone groaned and threatened to riot against the administration as they made their daily bad joke.

“Please rise for the Pledge of Allegiance,'' they continued. Halfway through the pledge, the recitation was cut off by heavy feedback, paralyzing the students for a hot second. After the loudspeakers finally settled down, Marky Mark was no longer speaking.

The principal cleared his throat:

"This is not a test. This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the Annual Purge sanctioned by Stuyvesant High School. Weapons of class four and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted. Commencing at the bell, any and all crime will be legal until the end of 10th period. Police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until the end of school at 3:35 p.m. when the Purge concludes. Blessed be our New Founding Fathers and Stuyvesant High School, an institute reborn. May God be with you all."

If there was a God, they were nowhere to be seen. There was a brief period of peace when class continued as usual. The warning bell rang and the end bell followed a couple of minutes later. Students packed up and got up to leave. What kind of joke was this?

As the first student opened the door, a crowd of adults was already there. “Where are you guys going?” the math teachers asked. “I dismiss you, not the bell.” A shiver rippled throughout the student body. As everyone realized that the prior announcement hadn’t been a joke, the chaos really kicked in.

“You have no power here,” the math teachers said. The class pushed past the teachers, who were helpless against the students’ masterful usage of PEMDAS and derivatives. As half of the class joined a riot against the oppression of the Student Union dictatorship, I slipped away to witness the chaos firsthand. I stepped into room 615E, where freshmen were being held captive by ARISTA tutors. As the students were forced to edit endless supplementary essays, the triumphant juniors and seniors howled at them for mixing up ethos, pathos, and logos. I shuddered and backed away.

Two floors up, I could hear shouting from the physics AP’s office. I peeked in. Senior Victor Kuang had Assistant Principal of Chemistry and Physics Scott Thomas pinned against the wall. I watched in awe as Kuang utilized the boxing prowess he had picked up during P.E. to keep Thomas cowering in his office. Between jabs and straights, Kuang growled, “Run them A’s.” Faced with superior firepower, the assistant principal was forced to give in to his assailant’s demands and punched in the numbers on his computer. Satisfied, Kuang turned around to leave. Seeing me outside the clear windows, a twisted smirk crossed his face. “Aw sh—,” I trailed off. It was time for me to leave.

It wasn’t until I got to the fifth floor that I lost him. Out of breath, I headed into the lunchroom. It was already 1:00 p.m. An orange whizzed past my head. I looked up to see a lunch lady across the room.

An angry “TAKE A FRUIT” echoed across the lunchroom. As I dodged another unripe citrus, I noticed about 50 bodies strewn across the room, having already been shot in the head by the fearsome fruit lobber. As I ran out of the lunchroom, I was immediately confronted by another situation.

I heard a “Set, HUT!” around the corner, followed by a “GO LONG.” The deep, resonant manly tone could have only come from our school’s own Division C football team. To my surprise, a student soared by. As he landed in an open hallway locker, the boy glanced at me with panicked eyes. His mouth was covered by a “Evan and Nicole for Sophomore Caucus” sticker. “Mmph, mhgh!!!!!!!” he whimpered. The school football team was using sophomores as throwing practice. And what's more, they had access to the most feared stickers known to mankind.

The 10th period warning bell rang. Mentally exhausted by the day’s Purge activities, I headed to the school’s entrance. The printers lay on the floor, crushed by the weight of the thousand-page textbooks they were printing.

One Year Later

The current sophomores haven’t yet recovered from that initial Purge. Nothing like that has happened since. Perhaps the authorities have decided that it was too harsh. The new morning announcers have gone about the announcements as usual. Doesn't seem like today is any diff—

Loud Feedback

Wait… Not that noise again… Aw, man. Here we go again.