A short write-up I wrote for my creative writing class. I wrote something after a long time (a very long time), so it's pretty rough. I need to restart again and improve, so I am always open for CC!

Author's note

I am back to basic when it comes to writing now, seriously need to make a come back again.

1. .

Repainted walls, repainted tables, even the grills of the windows smell of oil and spirit. Even more unbearable than the smell is the fact that the benches which once spilled with people are now unbelievably vacant and the wide gap between each student present adds on to the emptiness left behind by the recent past events. It’s suffocating, all this emptiness. I see others feeling it too when a girl with golden spectacles and stark black hair- someone I have seen before in the crowded class but never got a chance to talk to- stands up in the middle of the lecture and goes round each of the four corners of the room, opening every window on her way, stopping at the door before returning to her seat. The lecturer doesn’t mind this disturbance, fully aware that no disturbance can ever measure up to the one all our minds are going through.

Despite the lecturer’s half-minded ramble on whatever she is attempting to teach, there is an odd silence that occupies the length and breadth of the classroom. Even the sound of the plastic end of the thread hanging by the closed projector screen, scratching against the blackboard below as it dangled with the winds thrown by the ceiling fan, oh it is definitely loud. All I can do is imagine the murmurs of the gossiping students at the back and the professor thumping on the front desk with a duster again and again, trying to force silence to prevail, I imagine it only so I can feel like I fit in with my surroundings again like I used to. But the shiny walls and the smell of paint does not escape even after the girl (one I have never talked to) had opened every possible gap in the room so the smell of the world wafts in and maybe a bit of the old familiar vibes of the campus can be exhumed. But the dead can’t be brought back to life. And though the floods washed away every familiar person and structures in town, and the buildings repainted to regain the old vibrance, the trauma can’t be painted upon.

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