Reading week went by in a party filled, alcohol soaked haze. Not much reading was actually done on account of the fact that you left your books back in your dorm room.
Expanses of generic farms and barren fields roll by outside your filthy car windows.
You are unpleasantly snapped back to reality by a disturbing noise emanating from deep within the pile of scrap metal, salvaged parts and improvised repairs you call a car. It's mechanical complaints and emanations begin to grow into a crescendo of metallic grinding and howling. Your transportation coughs and stalls with a final convulsion as you coast to a stop. A wave of frustration washes away any fragments of sanity you had gained from your week of slacking.
15th place (out of 36) in the 11th Annual Interactive Fiction Competition.
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