better late than never

to all those students who do last minuite work.

[ this is not a vent or related to me, merely it is an inspiration from all those highschool students who always leave their work for last moment. ]

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

Seated in my chair, almost motionless, I could hear nothing but the clock.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

With each tick, the clock reminded me of our contract, the agreement that I finish this before 10PM.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

Under the pressure of the burden on my back, I could not take it anymore, and I caved in as a fraction of my stress erupted. I silenced the clock, removing its cold, unbeating heart, burying what kept it alive in a place I was sure to forget, and shutting up those ticks and reminders for a cause I believed to be good. With frenzied desperation, I began my usual rush as I had done so other times.

Clicking, clacking, tapping, trapped. High and low.

I started, immediately typing away, trying to cram in as many words as I could, trying to reach the finish line; the deadline. Never before have I felt so much struggle, and never before did I think I would come to this.

Clicking, clacking, tapping, trapped. Unable to slow.

I beat away at my keyboard, hoping to turn in the last assignment I had put off; the most towering, the most fearful, the one that loomed over me, the one watching me climb it so pitifully, a cruel bastion. No matter how late, no matter how stressful, however, I would push on to get through this; to get it done no matter what. Despite my standards dropping due to the urgency, I expected myself to work through the night, and in essence, I constricted not only myself to my chair, but also my mind to ball-and-chain.

Clicking, clacking, tapping, trapped. Not wanting to forgo life.

I knew I could not rest until I finished this. Although I had ruthlessly put it to rest, the clock stared at me, frozen just like I was before, as if it wished to ask me why I had torn out its source of life in such cold and selfish blood, as if it wanted to plead to me not to silence it, but had been too late to say. In the "dead" clock, I saw myself; the clock and I desperately wanted to know why we deserved our circumstances, we wore an idle expression, and we both held a dire fate.

Clicking, clacking, tapping, trapped. As happened many a time ago.

Back and forth went my eyes, to paper, to screen, to my keyboard, to my hands. I hadn't any time to waste looking at myself beyond my hands, however, for I had to catch up, I had to catch up before I fall short of the deadline; before the deadline that could determine whether or not I live to see the next years of a life that could have been much better. Even with my thoughts turning against me, trying to hack at, dig away at, claw at, and pierce; trying to find a way to intrude into my mind and conquer me. I was far too fixed on the task however, and my mind too aching yet numbed from the immediate task at hand to feel what would have normally been pain in its most vicious form, what would have been my thoughts tearing apart my composure until I could no longer hold any hope in my arms, what would

have rent me apart until there were nothing left of me but vain blood, wasted sweat, and hopeless tears.

Clicking, clacking, tapping, trapped.

Footsteps.

As I felt myself getting closer and closer, I had been glancing hurriedly every-which-way, and as I had been occupied with working myself out with no real end in sight, I had noticed but was not conscious of the steps approaching me.

Tap, tap.

...

Tap, tap.

I started to feel a tapping on my sore but desensitized shoulder, and I looked behind me, despite my intent to pour all my attention and focus into conquering this foreboding stronghold of a task until I could do no more.

"Are you okay?" My mother asked me.

"I'm busy." I replied wearily, in a dismissive manner.

"Your father had told me that you have been neglecting some of your other needs, and we have been very worried about you," she said, "care to at least explain-"

"Not now." I cut her off.

"Please, allow yourself some rest!" My mother pleaded, "This has been going on for weeks, your father and I would not want to see you overworking yourself like this..."

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" I howled, "I have to work through this for my own sake, even if it means putting all of my remaining time into this!"

I heard a few stutters before my mother gave up on trying to say anything more to me, and so I went back to the task that grew to become utterly demanding due to having left it derelict and unfinished for so long.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

In my head, I still heard the clock; it would not let me go, not without a grim reminder that was almost macabre. For the time being, and perhaps for the rest of my life as I know it, I remained in stasis at my desk; clicking away, clacking away, tapping away, trapped both by myself and the task until I fail or finish this. I felt not the determination of one willing to persevere, nor the bravery of one who pushes on despite it all, but rather, I felt the overwhelming urge to survive. I felt like wild prey; trapped in a corner and forced to fight, to fend, to struggle for my life, and regardless of whether or not this was in vain, I had to either get this done, or never be able to truly live again in trying to do so.

Tick, tock, clicking, clacking, forced in a miserable state of racking.

I did not want to be destitute, I did not want to live to rely on spare change, I did not want to live off of coins from beggarly cries from help nor succumb to the "whims of fate" as destiny claims. Each hour and minute fluctuated terribly, either spanning an eternity or a mere instant, with the only constant being my despair.

Tick, tock, clicking, clacking, in a wreck.

My perception had somewhat degenerated, and my vision began to worsen. I could not blame the days of rest I had neglected, the days I spent at a screen, nor my pathetic state of wellbeing, for each was as true as the others. Before I knew it, though, I was finally no longer in utter peril.

Tick, tock, clicking, clacking, now caught in a disheartening aftermath.

Although it was hard to discern, I could see that I had finally finished my work, and although I had a feeling that so much of it could have been much better, I could not know how so, nor could I spend any more of my time patching up any mistakes, so I submitted my work at last. However, I was neither met with any relief, nor did I feel much of this burden crumble off of me, for my toil left me in ruin, left alone only with the same thoughts that tried to mutilate my mind. In the end, many of those thoughts left my mind desecrated, knowing I had yelled at my mother, knowing I had forsaken myself both now and before. However, there was one particular thought haunted me most; speaking to me so clearly, warning me of my negligence, and bringing me to the worst of my chagrin:

"You should not have allowed your work to accumulate, for now you have sacrificed and lost much of your present self from its debts. You were too afraid to face and challenge the hardest of your work sooner, and now you have paid for it."

I got off of my desk, undoing what kept me there, and I went to my bed with my mind and heart still heavy, as I had condemned them by means of ball-and-chain. I looked pitifully into the mirror, tearing up.

"Please, for your sake, for your family, for all that is good," I cried, facing my reflection, "please, stop trying to avoid everything..."

Even though I knew it was not possible, I wanted to just reach through the mirror and embrace myself, I wanted to not feel so tired, so alone, so lost. In spite of it all, I wanted to be free, so this was going to be where I would start.