She had been wandering through the maze-like halls of the school almost aimlessly when she found it, and stood now, staring awe-stuck and wide-eyed from the door way at the great and terrible power contained within the room before her.

Knowledge. Uncut, uncensored, raw, bloody knowledge. She trembled when she saw it–no, she began trembling when her manic mind realized just what it meant. She had, after all, seen a computer lab before. She had simply never seen its true potential.

She was dressed as if she were going to go out, in a simple pair of dark wash ‘skinny’ jeans with high heeled boots and grey ‘screen’ t-shirt with a rock and roll motif (gituars, skulls, roses, and of course, the lyrics of classic songs.) A black leather jacket hung off of her shoulders and a black prada bag was clutched at her side.

Cautiously, she looked down the hall in both directions, making sure no one was around just in case she wasn’t allowed to be in the computer lab unsupervised. What was she going to do? Everything she couldn’t before. She shut the door behind her and took a seat at one of the many computers, moving the mouse to awaken the sleeping screen. Her small fingers moved over the keyboard as she logged in–every student at the school had an account.

User Name: songyingying
Password: **********

To her surprise, the screen changed, logging her into the system. Well, of course the screen would change. Of course. She was on the edge on her seat as she opened the internet browser–internet from the American point of view.

She stared at google for a moment, wondering what she should look up first. Then, it was obvious. “The June 4th Incident.” A.k.a. the Tiananmen Square Massacre. Very rarely was it referred too–she had heard but one reference to the ‘incident’ in all her time spent in China–while reading the translated lyrics of Rancid’s “Arrested in Shanghai.”

So I protest the massacre at the Tiananmen Square.

Protests? Massacre? Tiananmen Square? You mean, in Beijing?

Her questioning had resulted in a slap across the face from her teacher. June 4th 1989 is NEVER meant to be spoken of.

And now she was beginning to understand why. It was insane. It was sickening. Her mind screeched to a halt before it’s manic pace picked up.

“Ho-ly f**k-king nuts,” she breathed. She shook. Her heart pounded, awakening from it’s slow arrhythmia.

Did the students here know? Kids her age, born after, or too young to remember the incident--if it was avalable on the internet for all to see, how could they not? Well, she'd find out--as soon as she could tear her mind away from what she was reading on the screen.