“What did you see?” The male staff from Works inquired.
“Well, we were all seated in front of Ralph, the conveyer. The wooden benches held by sitting metal skeletons had slightly dusty table tops attached to their backs. We leaned on them relaxed.
The class is cream coloured and spacious. With just six of the eight dirty white ceiling fans rotating fast. We did not fill up the empty class though. The white board hung on the wall opposite us. There were two white boards in the class. The second one was unhinged and leaned against the wall beside the other. Both boards had black, faded red marker scribbled all over them.” I answered
“I smelt the burning circuit first. Ralph was speaking on the use of description in prose fiction. I asked the lady beside me if she smelt anything. She said, “no”. I kept silent as the wide and tall lecture room was invaded with the pungent nose tickling smell ignored.
The first explosion sounded as I was stacking my A4 papers. It rocked the class and it’s fifteen louvres windows. Fumes of grey smoke emerged from below the white board. The socket beneath the board sparked out orange streaks and smoke. These little fireworks blackened the beige wall. We all panicked because the spark cracked louder. Below the dying firework laid the remains of the white socket, in fractured pieces. We all stood up”. I paused out of breath. Continuing my red full lips began moving.
I remember Yemi stated with gratitude, “Thank God, I didn’t plug my phone there.” We had to stop the literary interactive session. Then hurriedly we left the class through its open dusty white metal bar doors”. My narration ended as the bowed shiny bald head mimicked the slight shake of the scribbling pen of the man from Works. “Repairs would be carried out quickly by the Department of Works” the man dryly says.
Image sourice: Lukas Blazek