May 15, 2017
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The sound of the school bells fills the hallways as each student rushes out of their classroom. Though the school day had technically ended, none of us were truly finished with school, and our unnecessarily heavy backpacks serve as a reminder of this. “Math test Friday, research paper due Tuesday, lab report due Thursday, essay due Friday, Imperfect v.s. Preterite quiz tomorrow”. The impending essays that had to be written and tests that had to be studied for filled my thoughts and followed me around in the form of a bright red backpack. I cherish the time in between school, for the work would only continue when I got home.
“Bye everyone! Have a great rest of the day” Mrs. Graziano shouted as we sprinted out of the double doors and onto the playground.
“Hey, wanna come over to my house?” Patrick asked.
“Yeah, sure.”  At this point, asking if I wanted to come over to Patrick’s was unnecessary since we both knew the answer, seeing as I came over practically everyday.
“We can walk home in a little bit.”
“Okay, wanna play football?” For the next hour, we took part in a ruthless games of tackle football between twelve seventy pound second graders, intense games of tag, and one passionate game of wall ball.
I trudge through the door, climb up the stairs, and burst into my room. My backpack falls to the floor with a crash as I prepare myself for the hours of homework to come. After taking out a couple of folders, a few notebooks, and my computer, I collapse into a chair, and resign myself to the hours of homework to come. Each time I complete an assignment, a new one takes its place. The shouts coming from my younger sisters playing outside taunt me, and I reminisce of the days where I could play on the playground for an hour, go to my friends house for two more hours, and then do all my homework in fifteen minutes or less. If only now was then. I continue to grind out more and more homework but the workload feels endless. Finally, the alarm on my phone reminds me that it’s six o’clock; time to leave for practice.
We began to walk home to Patrick’s without a care in the world, our backpacks as weightless as the thoughts on our minds. When we arrived at Patrick’s house, we did what every kid our age would do: we played. We played outside for hours, with every sport we could think of. We played inside with the greatest variety of games you can imagine (meaning we played on his play station). Though the day was like any other at the time, they were numbered.
Finally, at nine thirty at night, I walk back through the same doors I had six hours earlier, but this time with a different backpack on. During the time I spent at practice, homework was no longer a burden, but I am hit by reality when I walk into my room and see my red backpack again as it lies open on the floor. “Still more homework to go” I think to myself. My body aches and my mind is exhausted, but the pile of undone work is glaring at me. My responsibilities have inevitably caught up to me, in spite of my attempts to forget them during practice. I resign myself to my chair, and I begin to complete the arduous tasks ahead of me. My mind wanders back to the carefree days of endless fun; when my most important concern was whose house I’d go to today, but I pull myself away from these daydreams, and resume the reality that is high school.

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