Slowly as if a deadly volcano is about to explode, the rumbling of thousands of feet running, it gets louder and louder and louder. Suddenly, it explodes. Thousands of people come in ,flooding the great hall, their feet echoing off the walls, their screams of hunger and panic fill the grand room, the sound of crashing as jaws shut tightly. Silence. Then the volcano erupts again, doors slam, feet thunder on the ground, chatting rises. The bell rings, silence again. It’s the end of lunch.
At a snail’s pace, the wind carries the strong aroma of fish and chips, it turns every corner, enters every classroom, barges through every door. Then it stops. Inhale. The smell lingers up to your brain, slides down to your lungs, infects every cell in your blood, runs through every vein, settles in your heart. Every nerve tingles, every hair stands on its end, every mouth smiles, everyone knows what time it is. It’s lunch time.
Row after row, chair after chair, table after table so far in the distance, it’s impossible to see where it ends. Gradually, getting closer and closer, finally viewing rows of pizza, rows of chips, rows of ice cream, rows of hot dogs, rows of Panini’s. Every eye stares, unable to blink, gaping in awe. Petrified. Everyone knows you eat with your eyes first.
Jaws shut tightly, as though the food is imprisoned in there forever. Every taste bud quivers and shares the taste amongst them. Every tooth crunches into sweet and sour, hard and soft, sharp and blunt. Automatically your eyes shut tightly and you strain to hold onto the flavour forever. Uncontrollably you swallow, and realise your addicted to woody’s delicious pizza’s, and there’s no way out.
Your hands rub over smooth, fine cheese. Your fingers trace the shape of every seed on the tomato, your nails fall into the trap of round soft olives. You feel as though you have the world in the palm of your hands. You’re in control, no one else. Slowly, your lips slide apart from each other. Crunch.