October 27, 2011
By Megan Schwaller BRONZE, Hoffman Estates, Illinois
Megan Schwaller BRONZE, Hoffman Estates, Illinois
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Stress sat with her hands gently cupping her face. Most of her fragile hair sits tightly in a pony, while a few red chunks lay awkwardly around her oval face. The transparent wrinkles act as deep valleys, while her faded blue eyes are like the Sahara.
The cool draft shuffled through the room blowing the thinly loose papers in the air.

“No!” she shrieked as she hurdled over the couch to shut the window.

As she leans over to pick up the pieces of disaster, the digital clock calmly flicks to 1:03 am.

The tiredness is so visible in her eyes it’s almost contagious.

As she redirects herself back to the crooked amber coffee table, she pushes through the exhaustion as if she’s seconds away from the finish line.

“Notes on Chapters 6-9, two page paper on political conspiracies, and study for calculus test,” she recited from her half ripped, coffee stained notebook.

“How in the world am I ever going to finish all of this?” she asks, as worry begins to drip drops down her face.

Anxiously her mind begins to race.

“If I can’t finish all this then I’m screwed! My grades will drop so fast, I might as well kiss my future goodbye.”

She nervously bites her nails until the gust of wind whirling outsides grabs her attention. Stress shuffles her way against the soft, caramel colored carpet towards the kitchen. The foul smelled dishes lay stacked on top of one another, while the bills are unevenly scattered on the counter.
Upon arrival, stress meticulously opens the flimsy Marlboro box, and lights a fire. As she puffs her way back to her seat, the darkness of night continues to linger in the air, although it has only just begun.

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