The overhead fan clicked as it whirled. The pull string tinkled against the warm light bulb. The window air conditioner hummed and then it sputtered, seeming to groan to a stop. Then it began to hum again.
A pencil clicked against a polished pinewood desk. Tooth marks circled it near the eraser. Sore fingers of a hand plagued by raised veins and cramps, held the pencil. The tip made tiny black circles on a sheet of paper. The circles formed a larger circle that was gradually being filled in with the tiny dots.
Fingernails scratched at the desk beside the paper. Pain rippled up the fingers, through the hand, and burst along the bottom of the arm. Still the fingers scratched, leaving no marks against the varnished pinewood.
Red lines crawled toward the pupil of the eyes as they stared at the blank paper. Beads of moisture bulged in the corners. Eyelids, late and slow, blink. Then they shot back open. The head lifted up and looked from side to side. Sleep was banished into the shadowy corners for the moment.
Anxiety crawled like a spider up the man’s back. The pencil broke; throwing led across the blank paper. The man threw the pencil across the room where it bounced against the wall, fell to the floor, and rolled beneath the bed. The tired hand, moving slowly like a drunk trying to prove he is sober, brushed the led from the paper.
The man’s forehead smacked down on the once more blank piece of paper. He glanced over. The clock struck one in the morning. The man groaned and sat back up. He picked up another pencil and returned his attention to the paper. It was as blank as his mind.
The man scrawled his name at the top of the paper. He grinned. There was progress! Then the grin vanished as the man realized that he had yet to continue and finish the ten page term paper.