I would do close to anything for a cigarette right now. A cigarette to leech on. To suck, suck, suck like a parasite. The orangeish lighting of the computer lab sinks into each boy's and girl's skin, their pores absorbing the light. They become orange faces and arms, staring ahead at a screen, their hearts following the rhythm of clacking keys, listening to static noise occasionally interrupted by the busy beat of the printer expelling paper. Row after row, lines furiously being entered on a tiny computer database. Movements; robotic, timed, monotone, rigid, hardly able to distinguish technology from being.

Peak, peak. Students slightly more alive peak into the room from outside. Waiting with desperation for a computer of their own. With widened eyes, great huge eyes of grotesque proportion. Iris and pupils moving in circles, searching corners. They're aware of any motion, ready to attack. Shoulder hunched, necks narrowing, sombre faces, wings on the verge of spreading, so vulture-like. With time, they'll grow beaks and feathers!