Alot of 'vac' and not much 'stu'....

The notice is out, a temporary week-long reprieve from her hellish 3 months of uni. Seizing the long-awaited opportunity, she tentatively pokes her head out of her 3-month-old study burrow, complete with basic food items (chewing gum, tea and various Chinese wonder biscuits), a whole Amazon forest's worth of scrap paper and a roof fashioned out of used research essay references and lecture notes stabled together and reinforced with sticky tape so as to not cave in and squash her like a cockroach (ever the strategist that she is).

After furiously blinking back tears brought about by the sudden shift from fluorescent to natural lighting and a clearing of her vision, a sharp intake of breath echoes down the hallway.

"Wow, so THAT'S what life looks like!"

Sunshine, flowers, rainbows and other happy things she sees in abundance, contrasting greatly with the dismal drab of used teacups, various intravenous drip packets filled with caffeine and V ready to be pumped straight into her veins, enough budget ballpoint pens to give Mr Bean a run for his money and incomprehensive study notes sprawled across her floor, bed and table space (as well as those acting as one of the essential building materials of what constitutes as her 'roof' [see paragraph 1]).

Afraid of who or what she might encounter, she steps one hesitant step forward, away from her domain and into the uncharted waters of her upstairs hallway, her shoulders quivering with excitement.

Two steps forward. She stops.

Being now completely free of the confines of her dwelling, the feeling of freedom threatens to overwhelm her senses, tempting her with promises of ice cream, movies and unfinished PS2 and computer games. It takes almost all of her hard earned self-discipline to not immediately grab her handbag and bolt out the front door without a care in the world in search of shopping, loud music and perhaps some alcohol.

So she stands there, the threshold between her own world and the world at large.

It is at this point that she hears...something...'voices' a logical part of her mind supplies, and she unconsciously strains her ears in an aim to comprehend faint murmurings. Every so slowly, murmurings become muffled words. Muffled words become distinct phrases.

"Kylieeeee.....Kylieeeee......" she hears, "come out and plaaaaay," they whisper, "Joooooiiiiiiinnnnnn us! Have some fuuuuunnnnn," they entice.

Unable to bear the protracted imperatives any longer she moves towards the front door only to suddenly halt, for here our doomed heroine encounters another mortal, a being from this unfamiliar world. They appear to be physically larger than she, and when she tilts her head so that their face is more in the light, she can deduce that they are male.

Our heroine squints her eyes, mentally foraging through the dark recesses or her memory in hopes of attaching a name to the face which tingles with such familiarity. Three months of little to no contact with the outside world has left her short term memory tragically bereft of any other beings besides herself, her uni lecturers, tutors and the occasional partner for group work.

Picking a name, she tries it out on the male who is still standing, uncertain, in front of her.

"...Dad?"

Immediately the male's facial features begin rearranging themselves into a mixture of shock and rejection. Quickly assuming that this nomen is incorrect, she tries once again with another name which seems close to her heart.

"...Ichigo?"

This time round, the face merely shows that of confusion. Well, third time is always the charm, or so they say, although she is left with only one unlikely candidate, a name which incites feelings of annoyance and exasperation, but with no other appellations to choose from, she resolves to pitch all of her efforts on this one last option.

"...Chris?"

Bingo. Recognition registers on his face.

Scratching his head and appearing to consider verabally questioning the sanity of our heroine, 'Chris' moves to speak.

"Ky...shouldn't you be studying?"

Studying. The word echoes inside her mind, increasing in volume and velocity as it zips through the synapses and comprehension...suddenly...dawns.

Studying.

Exams.

Stress.

Stress.

STRESS!

A heart-wrenching scream can be heard throughout the neighborhood as our heroine's short-lived freedom is tragically cut short by one simple question, which, though carrying neither malice nor ill intent, is callous in the way it brings reality crashing down on our doomed heroine's brief study interlude.

In the blink of an eye, she dives for the safety of her self-contained world, huddled directly beneath pages from 'Chapter 7: Globalisation and Education' which threaten to drop onto her head due to one errant staple. Here, she vows to study like there is no tomorrow and to not emerge again until the real end of the end (except for food, showers, toilet trips, the actual uni exams themselves, work, TAFE...oh stuff it, I lie), the 14th day of this month, a Monday, if memory serves her correctly.

Until then, fellow victims of the horror known only as "The Finals", I bid you adieu and good luck in your exams, big or small, long or short, heavy in weighting or otherwise.

May you have better luck studying than I have experienced thus far.