The professor mounted himself in front of the dim room. His questions shackled the students, and his beady eyes craved for attention. The jail cell fell silent, and eye contact hid behind textbooks.

Panic dripped through the air while he patrolled the spacious, white room. The slightest movement could target the next victim. One of the few in the front line of fire, a woman struggled to listen. Her hands hid her young face from the interrogation. She held her breath, drowning in the silence.        

A tardy innocent fumbled through the silence when entering the room. The student’s footsteps echoed as he crawled to a desk in the back of the classroom. The interruption allowed the tension to lift, causing the professor to execute the lecture.      

The young lady exhaled nervously, and her attention drifted out of her shackles. The clock taunted through her tired mind. She thirsted for an escape, to be a refugee. The few minutes remaining in class stabbed through her.

Her eyes wandered across the students next to her. They focused on the professor, took notes; they were alive. She continued observing: why could she not be like the other students?

Instead, she rotted in her chair and in her body, waiting for the class to finish. She wanted to escape. She wanted to be free. She wanted to live.