If there is one place I know on the planet where time does die, bite the dust, and push daisies, it’s the student lounge at my faculty building.
There are many opinions on this phenomenon at my school, which usually takes the form of advice. This advice is summed up into 1 of 2 things:
a) Stay the hell away if you value a social life outside of the Lounge.
b) Learn how to play Euchre.
Why? Because that’s what people in our student lounge do. If you can’t play Euchre(and don’t want to learn) then you’re likely picking the first option whether you like it or not.
So what happens here in the Lounge? You walk in.
Without fail, the instant you walk in will be the instant you will spend the next 1-6(depending on when your classes are) hours. It’s like a voluntary jail for people. And a graveyard.
Did I mention that time doesn’t fly there, it dies there.
It’s not like it goes by that much more quickly. The issue with time in this room is that it just seems to go away and never come back, like that dog you had when you were a kid? The one your mom told you went traveling?
Sorry. Have this. *tissue*
So time goes away and never comes back. You spend hours in the room, but never really notice it. You can kind of feel it, but it doesn’t bother you.
And Time looks at you through a hazy glass wall, staring at you longingly while you laugh and play cards. Time sheds a single solitary tear, since he knows you don’t want him. He pulls his wide-brimmed leather hat over his eyes, and pulls up his collar. The rain outside is cold, like a corpse. He knows to walk away is to die, but he has no option.
Time walks away from the glass, his shadow fading into his final watery curtain as the rain pounds on his head. And you don’t even notice.
So yeah, time dies. End of story.