Written in Ink Closed

The skeleton of a boy walked briskly and quickly to the study room for a bit of peace, a bit of quiet. No one seemed to notice when he walzted into the room, that was a good thing for the boy. His long black hair hung like a curtain over his bony pale face as he made his way to the corner of the study room as quiet as a mouse. He cursed the chair as it made a unsatisfying screech against the floor, he carefully sat as to not dragon attention to himself, his coal black eyes flashing here and there. He set down the large pile of books he had been carrying, he opened his journal to the first page which read, "Property of Thymus Quercus Timerey." He skipped the page. He opened and settled his thin gold rimmed glasses on his nose creating a quiet click that echoed through the room. Thymus carefully and meticulously set down and opened the book so they covered the table. He scanned the books pages his eyes focused as they flashed back and forth. He wrote in ink, black ink, scribbling away at the pages. But quickly the pen came to a stop, Thymus tried draw a scribble in order to unblock the pen, when that didn't work he tried shaking the pen, 1, 2, and SPLAT! The ink splashed everywhere, a over his notes, the table, on his clothes and him. He tried to wipe it off but only made the situation worse, he cleaned up making it all look like it did before except for the pages notes covered in ink and his clothes stained black and the ink smudged on his face. He sighed upset, he ran his hand quickly through his hair, and sat for a second as it fell back onto his face. He would have to start all over, there was no denying. He leaned forward setting his chin on his hand covering his mouth bouncing his leg in annoyance. He had been working on that for 5 weeks straight, he lost sleep over these notes, his mind was a mess but he kept his face straight.
"No use crying about it," he stated, grabbing a new journal to start over from scratch.
(378 words)