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Timing
It was just past three on the light blue clock standing tall and towering over the tiny town. The young boy ran through the city freckled with tall and looming buildings. He knew he was late, he was always late. His life felt like one big, missed opportunity. The wind flew through his auburn hair and warmed his still sleepy, cold face as he desperately tried to channel his inner athlete. It was buried under hours of sitting on the couch, sitting in school, sitting on the bus, sitting alone, but it was nonetheless there. Feeling his lungs start to burn, he stopped and slowly walked past a fancier looking building with tribal patterned tile. The building stretched high into the rainy, overcast sky and gripped the clouds. He had always loved the building, not caring whether it was foolish or not to love a giant rectangle of concrete, but it held beauty. His friend, rather he used to be, once lived near it. The two of them loved to think up outrageous explanations as to why the building stood out with elegance in the midst of all the other dust colored, sighing, sad gray skyscrapers.
Remembering his original purpose for venturing outside, he took off running once more, worrying about being late, and then not caring again once tomorrow came.
He walked in just as the bell rang and the class collectively glared in his direction, the echo of the door closing floating through the room. Quickly, embarrassingly, he tried to shuffle over to his seat with the least amount of disturbance as possible. Once safely at his desk, people began to look away, everyone except the student in the very back. Of course though, he was not seen. He was behind everyone else, and was therefore left to stare at the unfailingly tardy teenage boy walk in every day, and no one ever knew. He was left to always be early, always remember, and walk by the tribal patterned building alone. He was left to always miss, and watch, and wake up again tomorrow, to be early once more.
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