Dissociation

  She opened the door into the classroom, her eyes open but her mind shut. The students stared at her as she walked in, the music pounding her eardrums relentlessly. She looked at all of them, their eyes half-closed as the droning of the lecturer continued over her dramatic entrance. She sighed, and sat herself down.
  Reaching down, she pulled an assortment of books, pens and papers from her bag, placing them upon the table carelessly. The unfocused eyes of her peers studied her every move, seeming to revel in her tardiness and enjoying a spectacle of mess and incompetence. She ignored them all. The music was ramping up, and she nodded her head to the beat, as though it was cheering her on as she set about the impossible task of confronting life.
  Finally, her studying peripherals were in place. She sat herself up, looking forward to face the lecturer whose attention was more on the blackboard than the students he was supposedly educating. Words that made up information were plastered across the board, but it made as much sense to her as the world to a child. The lecturer turned, his mouth moving and his hands gesturing, but she could hear nothing.
  The other students had shifted their attention once more, except for the one sitting next to her. The boy smiled at her and opened his mouth, his teeth seeming to clack and his tongue moving in the manner of speech. But the music had reached a crescendo, and it dubbed over his mannerisms with discordant melodies and riotous singing. She stared, observing his movements but comprehending little. Perhaps he was praising how she looked, or maybe he was scolding her for being late. Perhaps the music was too distracting for discernment, or maybe she just didn't care.
  She turned away from the boy, looking forward with a strange emotion boiling within. It was something between anger, sadness, loneliness and laziness. It was a dangerous concoction that swirled and bubbled, steaming over her heart with unforgiving ire.
  She looked out at the crowds around her, and let the music wash over her ears, slowly decreasing in intensity, but a comfort nevertheless. She stared at the lecturer, who was now looking at her with a mixture between curiosity and annoyance. She glanced at her notes, which seemed to stare back at her with judgement for their obvious disuse. She reached for her earpieces, and stopped.
  Maybe sometime she would face the conglomeration in her chest with absolute certainty. Perhaps one day she would face each member of the student body with sharp eyes and a sharper mind, removing them from their adverse states and bringing them into perfect enlightenment. In some distant time, she might confront the lecturer for his wrongful dissertations and hypocritical thinking, unveiling the truth of his terrible worldview. One day, she might confront the world for all the problems that it gave each being, for all the sorrows she experienced and all the fury that it incited; for the pains it gave her and everyone else.
  Maybe one day, but not today. Her hand fell from her ears as she placed them on the table, letting the earpiece remain. She let the next track play, slowly resting her head in her arms. The students stared at her, the lecturer glared at her, the world frowned at her, but she closed her eyes. Someday, but not today.