Petro was dark as break loomed

by Brandon Desmond and Eric Hammett

The halls of Petrocelli lay silent as the occasional sound of people walking through hallways reverberated. Meanwhile, the vending machine transmitted its electrical, cooling hum. On the floor were squashed cherries, the possible remnants of the caf’s yogurt bar.

The student lounge area had light peering through the windows as only two people were to be seen, two hard at work journalism students writing what they saw and heard.

Moving up to the second floor, most rooms were empty with no lights or people to occupy them. The occasional office was inhabited with people, hard at work.

An office worker rushed by with microwaved food, as they wafted the scent of apples, cinnamon, and oats through the air.

A student stood alone, waiting for a professor to arrive at his office. Meanwhile, another professor sat at his desk, his hand over his mouth, gazing at a computer screen.

On the top floor, a curious journalism student looked at an unreachable window. He wondered why it is able to be opened if it can’t be reached.

In another room, another student sat alone. In front of him was a half completed exam he was working on. He got momentarily distracted as he satisfied his urge to violently cough.

At the other end of the floor, a professor gave advice to a young student that wished to one day be a literacy teacher. His advice was of teaching through poems close to the students interests.

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