2:55 PM
2:55 PM
The talking. The low hum of the trout tank. A few quiet people, me included. The sounds of people being scolded for their behavior at school. The cracking as I crack my fingers. The clickity-clacking of the keys on the keyboard.
The smell ... not much smell. Just the smell of the school.
The computer in front of me, the small words slowly appearing on the screen. The tabs open, mostly for science. The sight of students fooling around me as I type this prose. The top of my water bottle peaking out from behind the computer. The small flash as Grammarly corrects my spelling. The posters and projects from years past cluttered around the room in the best kind of way. Backpacks sitting on the counter spaces and floors. The small trout slowly growing and the bubbles blowing up in the tank. The two other fish tanks, with the multi-colored fish. The giant periodic table is in the back of the room next to the trout tank. The color-coded elements.
The feeling of the keys effortlessly pushing down under my fingertips. The smooth table. The hard stool. The feeling of not-quite-dry shoes from the last time I went outside. The warm comfort of my hat fitting snugly on my head. The small weight of the glasses resting on my ears.
The taste of nothing sliding across my tongue, waiting to go home and get some food.
Boop!
The bell rings.
People shuffle out like it's the end of the world.
While I stay in my seat and finish this sentence.
The Voice
June 2024
Springtime
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2:55 PM
The talking. The low hum of the trout tank. A few quiet people, me included. The sounds of people being scolded for their behavior at school. The cracking as I crack my fingers. The clickity-clacking ...
Love Is
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Perfumed Lilacs and High-Fiving Trees
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