The Bookshelves of Hell--Things as they are 1

I am going to be writing a series of posts about everyday things. Since there are only so many things I can write about objects, they’ll be between 200-300 words long. I hope this lasts.

Bookshelves are the devil’s minions, you are surely aware of this fact if you have ever been a student. They choose the most unfortunate time to give away, and spill all the books and copies. They will not break when you have a free weekend with nothing to do, they will not break when you really want to do something interesting or creative but have nothing specific in mind. Instead, they will give away when you have to submit a handwritten report by tomorrow, and there is really no way you can waste your time since you are already late by three weeks and this is your last chance to pass.

 
Everything freezes as the bookshelf is giving away, like the slo-mo accident scene in a movie . You look up, and you see the rusty nails giving away slowly, the fat physics book thrown into air as if it were feather. You get mental picture of what will happen to you in class tomorrow if the report is not submitted. Then you picture the bookshelf falling on your fingers, which will certainly happen if you don’t remove your hands, crushing all the fingers, and exposing the broken bones and torn muscles. You remove your hand and the slow-motion stops—welcome to the real life, where you can never win.

Instead of keeping the books in a pile, which you did for an entire year before getting the shelf, you start repairing the shelf to put your books back on.  The report can wait, even though it’s absolutely urgent—you do have eighteen hours to the class. Now you need to find nails, hammer, and some Fevicol; items that are unlikely to be found in a boarding school cubicle. After spending two hours, you realize you have to do what you should have done a long time ago: go to the teachers’. They have the stuff, and you get your work done. Twelve hours to go, and you have successfully repaired the bookshelf, and feel that you deserve a nap for your accomplishment.

The nap is longer-than-usual. You have nine hours to go and you have hardly started. You rush through the report, convince yourself that you don’t need to sleep because you had had your nap, and submit the report, finally.