A Short Story : A Story?

Decent Essays
Ava looked over at Professor Putnik who was zoned out, her white hair a mess, and Ava thought about Lithium, the world underground and right under their noses. And she thought about the guy who she had been afraid to let in her thoughts for even a second. What was it about them all? What were they into? What were they apart of?
It was unordinary and tantalizing; she could understand why the Professor would find this world uninteresting after being apart of that. Unordinary, for her though, was a neighborhood away from madness, and she had been trying to build a brick wall away from those alleyways.
After awhile, the speakers and the subjects all blurred together, and she was fighting to keep her eyes open. She had caught Dahlila laughing one of the times but ignored her. Most people played on their phones; she sketched. But her eyes continued to get heavier and heavier, anyway.
She was looking at a clock on the wall, above the back door, behind the lecturer. The whole time she had been sketching it, it was quiet, the hands didn’t move; it was broken — Until suddenly and swiftly, the hand lowered: Tick — and then it ticked again and it continued ticking — its arms bending to show its crookedness, its true face, distorted, ticking loud, and striking everything else into background noise. Then there was no noise.
Ava looked around uncomfortably to see everyone moving in slow motion, cretinous functioning. Standing up slowly, she tried to snap Dahlila out of it to take her
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