Homework.

I could see him sitting there. Surrounded by stacks of disheveled papers, eraser bits, and chewed pen caps. Mountains of paperwork, held together with shiny metal clips. It was a daunting task to even look at him amid the scattered outpouring of so many others. Slowly his head fell farther, farther down the arm propping it up until it reached his elbow, where he jerked it back up sharply. The six empty cans of monster on his desk weren’t enough to completely erase the thoughts of slumber from his mind. Sleep was a far away dream, out of reach with these walls of paperwork in front of him. Sleep would be a utopia, a sanctuary, amazing.

.

Sleep would have to wait. Sleep would have to wait because everything had to be handwritten. After being dependent upon his keyboard for so long, writing became a foreign and scary task. It wasn’t as if that quill had spell-check and the dictionary had far too many words in it to make searching worthwhile. He was a child again, unsure of himself in every way imaginable and even in some ways that weren’t.