The End Of Term

It's nearly the end of term and University is manic.

Students take the form of hawks, scavenging for computers and swiping their library cards briskly as they enter the never ending jungle of books. Panic takes over. Deadline days are drawing closer and the late night owls swoop in, hoping the twenty four hour library is back. It isn't.

Students scan the computer area and circle weak targets, praying that a seat will come free.

The printers spit out documents and images, tired from their ordeal. They jam and jam and run out of ink. Bang Bang Bang, they feel the thumps and thuds of angry and impatient students. They do not have time for this.

Scanners hide at the back of the room. Silently. Silently. No copywright tonight.

Vending machines stand proudly. Tempting and teasing as ten pence coins are jingled in clammy hands.

Books are heavy. Dusty. Over-due. Shoved into bags and taken away from their shelves, only to be crammed, penciled, torn and splashed with late night coffee.

Giver-uppers spin on charis. Maybe the dizziness will stop the anxiety. 1,500 words to go. Save your work. You can finish this tomorrow right?
Not likely.