“I’m tired,” sighed the desk. It tried to stretch its back out, but it creaked under the weight of the contents piled on its top. Looking across the room, it saw two yellow eyes watching it from the darkness.
“What do you want this time?” asked the desk. The eyes belonged to an old Collie, whose gaze darted towards one of the shelves hopefully. “I see – she’s left another food wrapper here, hasn’t she?”
The desk wriggled a little, and the wrapper floated down to rest on the floorboards. The dog wasted no time in licking the remains of the cereal bar from the foil. The desk watched, feeling the usual prickle of guilt inside; the dog would be blamed in the morning for stealing the wrapper from the shelf, but it was better than being watched by hungry eyes all night.
Hours passed, and the desk managed to grab a few hours of sleep, before the weight of the table’s contents stirred it awake. The desk shook itself grumpily, sleep deprivation turning its mood sour.
“I’ve had enough,” it said at last, and with one mighty shake, sent everything tumbling to the ground. After the initial thud, all felt quieter than before. The desk looked at the destruction it had caused – pages of books bent, pencils snapped, a photo frame cracked. The desk lowered its gaze in shame, as the other pieces of furniture frowned at it.
“You do not appreciate what you have got,” said the bookshelf, whose every shelf was straining under the weight of all the knowledge it kept. “You are the origin of thoughts and ideas, whereas I merely keep that knowledge safe. I grow dusty, but you will see change every day. Be thankful you aren’t in a secondary school.” The other pieces of furniture mumbled in agreement, and returned to sleep.
I’ll do better, thought the desk, as footsteps sounded on the stairs, and the door was flung open, cautious human eyes searching for the possible intruder who had caused the noise. I’ll do better.
This is actually based on a true story – I abuse my desk by piling far too many notebooks and writing sets on it! If it could think/speak, it would weep.
After writing this, I think I will respect my poor desk more.
I also think secondary school desks must have the hardest life of all the desks – I remember all manner of things being drawn on them, and there was always at least one piece of chewing gum stuck to the underside!
What would your desk think about at night? I’d love to hear your responses!
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