He continued walking down the crowded hallway, feeling entirely alienated. Like he didn't belong here, no more like he hadn't belonged here for a very, very long time.
The hallway stretched, warping like a funhouse mirror, and the next moment, he was sitting at a cramped wooden desk.
Up at the front of the room, the bald math teacher was droning on, in a monotone voice, his back turned as he quickly scribbled long, boring equations on a whiteboard. The squeak of the dry-erase marker tapped a rhythmic, annoying beat.
Sol looked around the class. He knew these people. He recognized the backs of their heads, the posters on the walls, the ticking clock above the door. These were his classmates. Yes, classmates.
But it all felt completely, terrifyingly hollow. Like he was watching a movie through a dirty window.
Thump. A heavy hand smacked him hard on the shoulder from behind.
Sol turned around in his seat.
