6:42 AM: Jake rifled through his heavy canvas bag. Clumsy and ineffective. His eyes, hardly open and still sprinkled with sleep sand, made him think better of turning on a light. Instead, he blindly pawed at the objects inside, inspecting the items by feeling alone. His hands stopped when they touched it. A plastic book sleeve. An unmistakable texture, but one far too foreign over the past few months.
Jake yanked the book from out of the bag, setting it down on the desk with a dull thud. The effort of lifting the hefty book drew a yawn from out of him, and his eyes watered a little. As he rubbed away the budding tears, Jake cursed the choices of his former self and vowed to learn from his mistakes. He would read more and cram less. He would stay on top of his English classes. He wouldn’t ignore his recommended readings, even if they didn’t directly contribute to his marks. But that was a problem for the future; in the meantime, he had a thick stack of dead trees in front of him. Jake knew he would need to concentrate. He needed to finish as quickly as possible. After all, he had a midterm to write in less than 24-hours. Jake rubbed his eyes, grimaced, and flipped to Chapter 1.
— by Jake Roseman