Ambition dripped like thick molasses through the clear, crystal air, practically palpable to the palate and tangible to the touch. Every student inhabiting the fastidiously constructed, architecturally flawless lecture hall was a pupil of Ambition, and had sculpted themselves with Ambition’s aid to earn a seat in the grand hall and to construct their identities.
Ambition wafted ever closer yet ever more elusive. Pacing through the hall, extending her students’ hands perpendicular to the domed ceiling when posed a question, Ambition lingered upon the shoulders of her pupils and peered into their pasts, presents, and futures. Ambition paced the pathways between aisles, invisible yet felt by all. Ambition paused at the seat of one of her pupils as the student scribbled incessantly, aiming to emulate the edicts of economic scholars who existed now in the ether, evasive and ethereal.
The summer-scented breeze carried Ambition’s tacit voice to the pen of one writer. This voice traveled through the writer’s marble arm into the grey clockwork of her mind, infusing her with newfound confidence. Golden, silver, and bronze wheels turned in rapid succession, activating new mental chambers, illuminating unentered rooms, connecting bifurcated ideas.
Ambition’s clockwork procession spiraled, seared, and journeyed down the student’s arm to the ballpoint pen blazing luminescent between her fingers. A vessel of argumentation, the pen shivered along its page, seemingly animate, exploring new visions of society. The inky aquatic blue of Ambition’s blood wafted from the page, smelling of tradition, innovation, ancient wisdom, and radically new conceptions, each aligned in the pages of the lecture hall.