Chronicles of the Detention Hall

The clock ticks with a rhythmic disdain, orchestrating the slow procession of seconds. Each tick echoes in the silent room, a reminder that time is a tyrant even in this sanctuary of solitude.

Beyond the barred windows, clouds drift lazily in a canvas of cerulean. Outside, life continues unabated, a stark contrast to the immobility within. Yet, here, one can find the charm in stillness, the beauty in waiting.

In the back row, under the flickering fluorescent light, a young boy sketches. Intricate mazes and worlds beyond the mundane fill the margins of his notes. He is lost in his creation, each line a pathway to adventure.

The teacher's words fall like leaves in autumn—beautiful, inevitable, and mostly ignored. Each student's gaze is a fortress, a private realm where reality bends around the whims of imagination.

As the final bell rings, the quiet sanctuary bursts forth into life once more. Students emerge from their reveries, stepping back into a world that seems further away with each passing period.