A clock is ticking on one of the walls; the only sound in an otherwise silent room.
The silence is necessary. You see the task at hand demands a certain level of concentration – a certain firing of electrical impulses – just enough to trigger an idea, a thought that could help.
Foreheads are creased, pencils are being chewed at the tip where the eraser once was, as if within them lies a key to unlock that which needs to be accessed now.
In the corner stands one who threatens to change it all. A small energetic frame fidgets at the edge of one of the tables. Oblivious to her surroundings she goes about searching through her colleague’s pencil cases like there is something she left there for safe keeping that has now disappeared.
“Sandrine!” an angry voice shouts. It’s evident that this is not the first time she’s done this. “What’s gotten into you today?”
The small, unwoven frame continues, everyone stares in awe at what unfolds before them. After what seems like some time, the small frame sits down and unapologetically continues with her disruptive behaviour.
Eventually the angry voice resorts to extreme measures. The small frame finding itself bound.