The repainted brick lining the never-ending halls, I had seen them day in and day out for those long four years. My footprints had sunk into the cheap tile that lined the cold hallway. All of the other footsteps seemed so silent but yet again they were so visible. Everything was always a blur, I inside a clock with no battery, but a beating heart instead. My heart powered this clock, fueled by what was necessary and my motivation to finish this long subdued punishment. The voices of the teachers were dusty and made my ears ache, I could only daze out at the window showing a perfect view of the mountains. I craved the mountains but they were so far out of reach, I couldn’t leave this place. Even if I did leave this campus I wouldn’t reach them. My footsteps would sink into the dirt just as they did in the hallways. I would rather have the sun-beaten dirt fill my shoes than this exhausted concrete. I didn’t want to be part of the cycle. No one was remembered, no matter how many portraits laid in the hallways, those walls were peeling anyway. I felt like the pictures changed whether who walked through the hall, adjusting to make you feel like you had reason and that you’re time wasn’t completely wasted. I wasn’t blinded by those false words, and I didn’t take comfort in the paper halls. Instead of pictures hanging on the walls of me, **I wrote the truth on them and told them the way out.