September 3, 28 J.E.
The fog-enshrouded morning air whispers hints of the coming winter.
Furnaces begin to clear their throats from their summer hibernation.
Then come the school busses. The abhorrent yellow behemoths rumbling down narrow roads like some monstrous beast searching for prey. That prey, of course, is the helpless young of the human species. Mesmerized by the beast's flashing yellow and red eyes, they stand transfixed as it inexorably approaches. Finally, its belly full, the hideous aberration ambles off to its lair.
Little do the children realize that the monstrous school busses are actually just slaves to a far greater, more voracious entity. The busses disgorge the hapless victims into the eager maw of something that looks vaguely like a building, but its construction is so nightmarish that even the most insane architect could surely not conceive its monstrous proportions. Inside, the poor children run a gauntlet of fiendish cruelty designed to break their spirits and extract their very souls a bit at a time.
Hours later, the school spews the young out of its mouth as the busses gleefully consume them. The yellow beasts return to their hunting grounds and vomit the young back up, having extracted their fill of their innocence, youth, and happiness. They will return in the morning.
At least, that's how I remember it.