Late Nights

It’s 12am in the night.

I am lying at the much lighted corner of the wooden desk. Everyone’s asleep except Edna, my friends and I. Under that lonely light that shines awkwardly in the darkness, my friends and I are scattered all over, papers that were scribbled all over seemed nothing like their original self. Edna is in front of the computer, rushing her geography report, which was due tomorrow. She is rushing her work again.  We are all lying around, with her picking us up anytime and scribbling notes which were almost invisible on the already-full paper. We are all lying near the computer, with the hot air blowing at us from time to time.

It’s 3am in the morning.

Edna’s finally done. The whirling sound of the ceiling fan suddenly stops and the next moment, we were shoved into the dark black pencil case, fast asleep.

It’s 7am in the morning.

The only sounds we can hear is just the shuffling of feet and worried murmurs of “I am late”. Yes. Edna’s late, again.  It’s all the late nights and long accumulated stress. We are still on the wooden desk, resting on top of the printed geography report. The next moment, all we heard was a shout of “Bye!” and the loud banging of the gate that followed after.

We were still on the desk. Nowhere in Edna’s bag. Yes, by that I mean not even the report.

It’s going to be a bad day. No doubt. A very bad one.

Rachael Fong (1L)