Steel Eyes

I lean against the Senior Common Room window, sixteen and already worn like an old shoe. The new kids looked small. Fresh haircuts, polished shoes, bags too heavy for their skinny frames. Jaguars and BMW’s lined the driveway like glossy beetles in the sun. Mothers leaned in for last hugs; fathers stood aloof, hands in pockets, nodding briskly. It looked familiar and strange all at once.

I remembered my first day. Raw even after all these years. A jagged thing lodged in memory.

Within a week, these kids would learn the hard truths. The welcoming speech about community, belonging, and lifelong friendship wouldn’t mention the food. Tasteless slop, cold mush, gravy that came in clots. It didn’t mention sleeping fourteen to a dorm, beds hard as tombstones. Didn’t hint about the Seniors prowling corridors after lights out, waiting like wolves for a whispered word or a stifled laugh. Just one muffled sound, and lights would blaze, voices roaring: "Who made that noise?"

A fork in the road every night. Admit guilt, become a martyr. Seniors smiling as you held encyclopaedias, arms trembling against the wall. Cleaning shoe scuffs off basketball courts at 2 a.m., knees raw on freezing floor. Gargling shampoo till your throat burned. Or worse, silence. Everyone punished. A community united in fear, bonded by bruises and mutual suspicion. If you dobbed someone in, that poor bastard faced hell alone. Then the rest of the dorm taught you loyalty with fists and folded towels. Silence was safest.

Every day of my first year repeated this quiet violence. Tougher boys waited at teatime, biscuits vanishing before you reached the trolley. Steak disappearing from your plate with a casual sneer.

Survival meant choosing your response carefully. Run crying to mummy, and you’d leave disgraced. Tell teachers, branded forever as weak. Throw punches, risk broken bones and hospital visits.

Or you could stay silent, stare them down, let your eyes say what your fists couldn’t. Stoicism as the ultimate currency.

I watched the last car pull away, a mother waving frantically, a boy turning resolutely towards the stairs. Their faces were innocent, shadows lengthening under hesitant steps. They didn't yet know this place, didn’t yet understand its cold generosity.

How they responded would carve their futures here. I hoped at least one would meet it with steel eyes.

I watch the last kid trip on the stairs, bag spilling. He laughs it off, nervous. I turn from the window. My coffee’s cold. The house hums, waiting to swallow them whole.

FSF