The scratching and the pulling of lead across paper fills the room at different frequencies and volumes. Different patterns and rhythms.
They create a soft, and disorganized chorus throughout the room, even though they are barely noticed by the students creating it.
Paper shuffles on one side of the room and someone crosses their legs on the other side. One person drops their pencil near the back and near the front, someone turns the page of their book.554Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjEHwIVxyXg
There is no organization, or thought in the sounds created, until they all stop.
The bell rings.
Someone walks in, with rather nicely polished leather shoes. Their feet click with every metronomic step that they take, in the silence of the room, until they reach the front.
The chalk drags across the blackboard. It clicks, and drags, clicks again.
When it’s finished, the person turns around and looks at the class, and papers shuffle. Books move and bags are opened. Pencils are taken out and faces are turned attention to the front of the room once again.
There’s something more...
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