Clockworks
Chapter 1
"Tick-tock," called the clock, wanting to captivate the students' attention. The students were hypnotized and focused on their work. All that was heard was scribbling, foot tapping, and shifting on some occasions. But all that was muffled by the clock's ticking and tocking.
"Time's up. Pencils down," called the teacher "Pass your papers forward." Dozens of papers flipping and being passed forward now took over the clock's ticking and tocking, which was now muffled. Groans of displeasure replaced the silence of the classroom.
"I so failed that test," whispered one student to another "Hey, at least we can fail the test together!" the student teased back in response. The whispering grew louder and louder until those private conversations became public conversations. The talks varied from their weekly plans to weird dreams, which happened more often than not to many students. While everyone was talking, there was one boy just doodling and looking up at the clock occasionally. He was a quiet boy with dark brown locks that covered his ears. He would part his bangs from his eyes from time to time. The boy was neatly dressed; his red collar ribbon in a nice knot and his brown suit was somewhat the same color as his eyes. He seems like the type of guy who was always focused, when really, it was the opposite.
"What are you drawing there, C," a boy to the right of his seat asked him as he was peeling an orange with a pencil. He sat up a bit to get a closer glimpse of the drawing "Are you drawing the clock? Why are you drawing the clock? Are you impatient to get out? Or maybe you're just hungry? Want some of my orange, Cecil?"
There it was. The one thing that caught his attention was people saying his name. Cecil looked towards the boy's direction. The boy's appearance made him seem calm. His hairstyle was neat and grey. His blue eyes were the most distinguishing feature, aside from his hair. Most of the time, he changed subjects in the middle of a conversation, making it difficult to balance out what you were talking about with him. This boy was the complete opposite of Cecil, focused, and always seemingly calm. It's as if nothing had essentially bothered him in the world. The boy's name was Morriar. Morriar Tremblay, Cecil's schoolmate whom he had met in the third grade.
"Alright, class, settle down. You can save your conversations until after the bell," the teacher's voice spoke above the students' and once again, the classroom grew silent and the clock's ticking and tocking was heard once again. There was a short silence right before the bell rang. Cecil felt a slight jolt at the very moment the bell rang, he sat there for a solid minute while all the other students were packing up and leaving.
"Don't forget your homework," The teacher called out and let out a sigh.
Cecil stood up and started packing up. Morriar stood behind him giving his usual confused stare.
"Hey, Cecil, are you feeling fine? You haven't spoken for a while now. Are you perhaps sick? Or has your little sister kept you up all night with her crying? Did your brother betray you on the playground while playing Cops-and-Robbers? Either way, there has to be a reason why you're not talking," Morriar went on and on with his nonsensical tangents. Cecil packed his last book and turned to his schoolmate.
"I'm doing fine. Morriar, I'm fine. And why would I be playing Cops-and-Robbers? I'm not a child anymore, you know."
"I supposed that's true, but you're never too old to play on a playground or play Cops-and-Robbers. You have to keep your childhood and teenhood balanced, don't you?"
"You can barely keep a conversation balanced," Cecil uttered under his breath and walked out the classroom door. Morriar followed right behind him. The two talked as they walked home. Something seemed off when Morriar walked to his doorstep. Cecil shrugged it off and resumed walking to his home.
"I should probably go to sleep earlier," He shook his head "Yeah, maybe I'm not getting enough sleep." He looked around to survey his surroundings. Few shops were starting to close, the roads were beginning to look really busy, and the streetlamps glared their faint lights upon the streets. Cecil finally made it to his front porch. As he was reaching for the door knob, he felt a slight jolt.