The glow from the computer washed over Jeremy, making the dark bedroom behind him seem ten times blacker. The reflection from the screen was visible in his glasses, exposing the little amount of work he had completed. He sighed, and leaned back in his chair. Staring up at his ceiling, he wondered how on earth he had possibly gotten this far behind again. He blindly fumbled around for something on his desk, before pulling out a cigarette. He lit it up, and tried pacing around. Maybe that would help him think of something. After a few minutes he sat back down, this time cross legged in the chair. The smoke hung eerily in the glow in front of the computer. It was funny, this problem that Jeremy was having. He could read almost any book out there, any difficulty, and understand it. For instance- he was reading George Orwell in sixth grade, and it astounded teachers that he couldn't read Johnny Tremaine in seventh grade. See, Jeremy had never been able to read anything he was assigned. Or for that matter, do any work that was assigned to him. He only ever completed work that he had done of his own free will. He was always on the very edge of failing. In eighth grade, he was allowed to move on to high school even though he had mostly failing grades.
Jeremy spun around as slowly, taking a drag on his cigarette every time he made a revolution. "The shitty thing about being in this situation," he thought sadly to himself "is that I know I could have prevented it." And that's where he was correct! Had he started the work when it was given to him, or at least tried to start it, He would probably be fine. He counted everything off on his fingers (math had never been a strong point of his) one, two, three... four... fuck. He had a grand total of four essays or short stories due in the morning, and Two the day after that. He stopped his sighing for a couple of seconds to stop and listen to the music he had forgotten was in the background. He closed his eyes, and let the soothing sounds of Radiohead sink in as he raised the cigarette to his face again. He was quickly brought back to reality when the cigarette missed its target, and the filter (which was very much intended for his mouth) ended up halfway into his nostril. "OH JESUS!" He spluttered and coughed, and smashed the cigarette into an ashtray beside the computer. He pushed the power button on his stereo, and stared silently at his computer with rage in his eyes. He knew that had it not been an inanimate object, it would've cowered in fear. He relaxed, and muttered "If I cant think of anything now, Why waste time trying?" He closed the lid on his laptop, and immediately his room was bathed in darkness. He collapsed on his bed, and even as he dozed off he could feel that sinking feeling in his gut. He knew tomorrow wasn't going to be a good day.
