The young student reread a paragraph of text. She's read it before, of course, but she felt it never hurt to go over something again, especially when she knew that a geography test was imminent. She wasn't stupid; she also knew it never hurt to reread text when she hadn't understood it the first six times.

          Once more, her eyes drifted to the clock on the wall of the library. Instead of getting back to to her chapter, she wondered idly if the wall was meant to be that off white colour, or if it had stained over time.

          Realising she was doing absolutly nothing constructive, the student sighed and flicked to a track on her iPod. She needed something motivating- at the moment it felt like she was reading through treacle. Was that even possible? She contemplated the thought while the hands inched their way towards the start of a new hour.

         After a moments pause while the girl looked over her shoulder and peeked behind the bookcases, she fished out a little notebook from her bag. Almost reverently, she placed it on the desk with the amount of care a person usually reserves for babies and fragile vases. Quickly she whipped out a well used fountain pen and soon the soft sounds of pen on paper filled the otherwise silent library.

          Shadows grew as the girl sat at the table; spiders crawled out of corners and strung themselves across the bookshelves like living reminders of halloween. The muffled thunk of a textbook slipping off a shelf masked the sound of the old wooden door letting in an unwanted visitor.

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