Every step I take closer to the stairs fills me with dread, like a man walking to the gallows. Although even a man walking to the gallows is allowed to take his time.

The academic bag in my left hand, once filled with the promise of progress and academia, now weighs me down like an anchor, making me tilt unevenly. My shoulders blades are pinched together, my chin clamped to my chest, my forehead pushed back, and my arms clenched to my sides. My body shakes slightly, taunt from its burden.

As I strain, I make an amusing sight, although the tightness and burning in my neck and back aren’t nearly as humorous.

I can hear the yelling of the thirds, horribly reminiscent of the Cadre during hell week. Any clacking sound of metal on cement that echoes on the stoops makes me feel a twinge of fear, the association of the sound with the Rat Disciplinary Committee seems harmless to an outside, but it can put fear in a Rat’s heart.

This should be a simple walk and it definitely would be to any other person. A person wouldn’t have to square their corners. A person wouldn’t have to stare straight ahead, seeing but not truly seeing. A person wouldn’t have to strain, their backs sore from a simple walk. But we are not people and us Rats are not given the simple privileges we once took for granted.

Once I reach the foot of the stairs I quickly make my way up, pounding each step as I move closer up to the yelling and what I fear is my doom. At the second stoop I quickly square my corners and stride out my steps hoping to evade the always watching eyes of the Rat Disciplinary Committee and the Seconds.

Once I reach third stoop, the atmosphere is extremely hostile. “RAT, STOP” is usually the first words I hear, usually followed by “GET ON THE RAIL.” Whelp, no escape this time. I quickly put my ac-bag propped against the wall and strain. A third, eager to get in my face asks me to answer a question or recite knowledge.

The inevitable happens and I get something wrong.

After my twenty pushups plus three, the cycle repeats until they finally tire of the many chinned, straining Asian rat, and send me away to my room, my temporary freedom from the yelling and the straining.

Unfortunately for me, this frantic journey to go up to the fourth stoop of barracks is one I must repeat every day, sometimes multiple times. What should have been a simple everyday occurrence has been corrupted into a strenuous and exhausting trek, a voyage of anxiety and fear. It’s funny how something so trivial can become such a challenge just because of a few people.