•Dichotomy•
|"A division or contrast between two things that are or are represented as being opposed or entirely different."|
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How many silhouettes can one trap in oneself? How many faces can a mask hide...
Ups! Tento obrázek porušuje naše pokyny k obsahu. Před publikováním ho, prosím, buď odstraň, nebo nahraď jiným.
112, 113, 114, . . . . 117.
The vague tap of the misguided footsteps that echoed in the empty hallways ceased behind the big mahogany door.
Alex sucked a despondent huff of breathe. In this majestic place, almost three years had flew by the back of her palm. And equally sailing had been her blotless tenure an invisible perfectionist;
in other words - a hidden model student.
But, just like how time cannot be parted from a ticking clock, her paper smooth life had to be wrinkled at one end or the another.
"If you fail to submit your 'Professional Training and Mentorship Internship Certificate' by the end of your senior finals, I can assure you that the graduation and scholarship you fare on might be at risk.
Please be more concerned, Ms. Bridgette. We would not love if our best student's name is sullied in vain lackluster."
Those were the exact words of Mr. Holly, the professor teaching 'Algorithm Science' to fourth year Computational Criminology students.
"Please be more concerned, Ms. Bridgette."
My foot.
She stared at the big door, seconds ticking by.
When she was convinced that boring holes in that exquisitely carved door would not help her circumstances, she lurched her hand forward to open the big thing.
As soon as the coolness of the wood carves grazed the skin of her palm, butterflies swarmed in her belly all at once.
An indescribable spasm gripped her body, in the air that felt thick. Amongst the lingering smell of old books and bells and the sultry aroma of frescos and stained glass swathed in sunlight, she felt quite nauseous. A prestigiously historic University was nothing new to the fragrance of the glorious past. But she felt sickeningly shuddering.
She had crossed the threshold many times. But today was different. Today, she was to commence her final year of the University.
Three years was far too late to be anxious about a first day.
Go in. Go in and tear those books on their wretched faces.
She shook her head out of that insane voice. It was just paranoia. Just a useless paranoia that she could not let herself dwell upon.
She gulped her pandora thoughts down her throat, it was best not to explore them further. It was best not to let those voices ruin her day; it was best to defeat them again - or at least try to.
Realizing that her fingers still encircled the knob, she must have stood there for quite some time. Taking out her phone out of her black cardigan pocket, she turned it on to check the time on the screen.
