Shadows [??? x Fruit]

A pen rested on her bottom lip as her eyes studied the ceiling. There were 16 lights, four rusty fans, two noisy ventilation ducts, and a small silver projector centered in the classroom. Ten meters.. seven.. seven and a half meters. Seventy five meters squared. The redhead closed an eye and squinted with the other. Eight hundredish feet squared for people in this side of the world. She sighed and looked down at her empty notepad. There was a date inscribed in the top right corner, and "PHI243" in the dead center of the page. I will die before this class is over.. she offered her condolences to herself as she watched the teacher read passages from his own book to the class, As if we can't read it ourselves. The watch on her phone told her she had to sit through this class for another hour causing her to bury a head between her arms in frustration. She was done counting tiles on the floor, trying to balance coins on her table, and seeing if she can rotate her two index fingers counterclockwise simultaneously for five minutes. She knows she can't tickle herself, but she can lick her elbow and turn her tongue upside down, twitch her ears, and wiggle her ears. And he's still talking.. she sighed, I wonder how many tricks I'll pick up before the end of the semester.

Emma was in the second semester of her freshman year as philosophy and physics double major student. Already bored to tears, should I throw in psychology? She managed to ace all her classes in her first semester and has therefore received invitation to enroll as an honor student, a recommendation to register in the school's accelerated Master's program, and a few emails asking her to join several 'prestigious' sororities. Not worth it... PHI234 was only her second class for the day but a night full of Netlix rendered her tired and groggy. As smart as the redhead was, she was lazy and neglectful when it comes to managing her sleep patterns. Not even the 20 oz mug of coffee sitting in front of her was enough to wake her up or make her more lively than a puppeteered corpse.

When Emma was 18 years old, her eldest brother, Robert, died from a heart attack at 22 years old. The doctors thought it was due to exhaustion. Edward, her second oldest brother, also died at 22 in a car accident when she was 20 years old. Mum thought Ed had a heart attack WHILE he was driving. This made her parents nervous about letting their daughter drive or letting her overwork herself in school. She was 22 years old now, the magical number, and already they were calling her everyday to check on her. Convincing them to let her study on the other end of the ocean was difficult, but she was persistent enough to bend them her way. 10 calls this week alone! Sometimes I hate technology! I thought that by moving away from London, I'll finally have my peace..

"Ms.Clemens?". The old, heavy-bearded professor called her from her solace and killed her train of thoughts. And there goes my peace.. She looked up at him and found herself facing a question shown on the projector. Pfft, that's easy. "John Stuart Mill" she hissed her answer almost instantly in a tone of boredom, then went back to covering her head from this stupid lecture. Asking me when I wasn't looking. That's a twat move. "That is correct, Ms. Clemens. You've been reading behind my back!". He thought his joke was funny, but few students agreed judging by the snickers from the corners of the room. We're three months in a class about morality, and we're only exploring Utilitarianism now. Rubbish..

Yet her teacher continued his lecture like a devout priest giving a sermon. Yet this is more boring. He read his words in the most monotone voice humanly imaginable, like a robot reading a grocery list. Two syllables in this man's voice can put a horse to sleep. His head was burned with thin white hair, small shaky eyes and a white beard that hid however many chins he had. He had thick eyebrows, and a thin nose. Everything in his face is thin, Emma thought. She could see his scalp if she focused hard, but she imagined she wouldn't have to if she was closer to him. Mass hair production, bad distribution, it seemed to her as she examined how his hair seemed to migrate to the lower half of his face. Did he always have spotty skin? Why am I just noticing this.. .​