“Solid twelve hours…” I whispered briskly to myself. It was how long I’d been working that night. My maths binder was open on the floor, and around my desk was many textbooks. A few writing documents were opened up on my laptop, and the trashcan behind my chair was filled with empty Starbucks cups.

I yawned, rubbing my eyes with fingers blistered from writing. I tried to make out the numbers in the corner of my screen, but my vision was fuzzy. It looked like three something, in which case my twelve-hour assumption would be correct.

Heaving a sigh, I leaned back in my chair. My arms stretched outwards, and I muttered softly to myself, subconsciously reciting information I’d read in my earth science textbook.

My peers told me they’d just leave some of the work alone and suffer the dip in their grades. Oh, but my brain and ethic was engineered to finish work. Done at last.

Suddenly, my eyes snapped open. “The world history test!” I gasped. I scooped my binder off the ground and immediately began to study.

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