Rut-Light closes the journal with a heavy thump after the entry had been written in its place. He didn't know what he could do anymore, nothing he did actually made him feel like he did anything, and the only thing that seemed to give him any comfort was to write in this journal that his father had given to him at the age of 20, back when he was still alive; back when everyone was alive but his mother. He was tired, so tired, his eyes were like lead, they were heavy, he could barely hold them open before his eye lids drooped down once more; he had multiple bags under his eyes and what little bit of a bright, brilliant mind he used to have was still holding on to the threads of his mind. He turned in his chair and looked at himself in a nearby mirror and wasn't surprised at what stared back.
"I need to sleep," he mumbled softly, "More than...*thunk*...anything..." and those were his last words before his head fell flat of the hard wood desk, his eyes closed and his breathing slow, but steady as he snored away, his right arm had fallen limp at his side, while his left arm lay wrapped around his head loosely.