Shadows flickered at the corner of his eye. Turning his head slightly to dislodge the tunnel vision syndrome that had begun to set in, James narrowed his eyes at the empty room.
He sat alone in his bedroom, a book propped open against his pillow. Tastefully chosen fabric encased the fluffy feathery mass, sunken where the weight of the book lay. Similarly pattern material formed the cover of his duvet, upon which he was now stretched out, toes pointed, legs straight. He was fully clothed, having not bothered to change before collapsing exhausted onto the mattress. Generic faded blue jeans hugged his legs loosely while a pixelated-patterned hoodie covered a jet black t-shirt.
Turning the page, James perused the words printed there, black and stark against the pale beige paper. Little of what was written there was actually absorbed into his brain, both body and mind too tired for concentration. Even rational thought seemed too much of a stretch presently. Blinking, his eyelids felt too heavy, begging to remain closed. He pulled them open, with visible force, shutting his book simultaneously. Historical reading would have to wait for another night. Too much had happened that day.
Dragging his legs off his duvet, James stood, shrugging out of his hoodie smoothly. When it fell to the floor, he didn’t pick it up. Instead, the hoodie was joined by the crumpled t-shirt and jeans that had been on his person a few moments previously. Changing into a pair of incredibly creased shorts, he slid into bed, ignoring the continuance of harsh light due to the electricity pulsing through the light bulb hanging from the ceiling.