Significance

The air hung thick with the promise of summer and the bittersweet scent of blooming flowers, a stark contrast to the knot of dread tightening in your stomach.
Seventeen years. Seventeen and three quarter years, to be exact. All leading to this – a flimsy paper that said you’d done it, you’d survived high school.
You shifted in the uncomfortable plastic chair, the rhythmic calling of names a dull drone in the humid air. Graduation. The end of one chapter, the forced beginning of another you weren't ready for.
Kyle, ever the friendly face, turned back with a grin. “You look like you’re in your own little world back there. You ok?”
"Yeah, I'm just ready to be done with this."
Done with the school, done with the memories, done with the constant ache of a life that felt like it had been ripped apart. Little did you know, done was the furthest thing from what was about to happen.