Oh Right.

The clock read 2 am. And Madeline was still awake. Curled up with a laptop. The screen's bright glow illuminated a small portion of the bedroom. The rest, darkness. Except for the open window that let the moon's gentle gaze enter her room. Like welcoming a beloved guest.

Madeline was not cramming. She never crammed. Or procrastinated for that matter. Her mother etched into her system that when you stuff endless facts into your brain, it would not stay very long. So study, not because it is mandatory, but because your curiosity demands you to.

A stack of books, from pocket sized to hard bounds cluttered the bed. Sheets of blank white paper, some fresh and new, others crumpled, covered the floor. Pens and pencils of all kinds were no different. Madeline was writing and re-writing over and over and over again. 

Hazel eyes moved left to right, up and down on the glowing screen of sample articles ,acting as a guide while she wrote. She scribbled ferociously, was forming paragraphs after paragraphs. Hands couldn't keep up with ideas boiling in her brain. Madeline paused. scanned the unllegible words. Scratched it. And starts anew. 

This was a habit she gained from her mother. A journalist, who crosses over oceans to catch glimpses of worlds other than her own. Tasting a wide array of cultures from every corner and crease of the Earth. Writes it down on a small notebook. So even if she does leave those places, the notebook would perserve it. That is what Madeline wishes to be. A witness of the incredible beauty of their small sized world. She wants to paint those scenes into people's minds. To let them know how lucky they are.

Madeline glanced at the clock. Blinked a few times, squinted and took a closer look. 4 precious hours of sleep were left. Then school would begin. She closed her laptop. Carelessly moved the mess away from her bed. Took a mental note to clean it after school. And tucked her self to sleep.

...

Horrible morning breath stuck to her mouth. It felt like mere seconds than hours. The weight of bags that hung below her tired eyes did not help either. Her mind was stagnant. Her eyes refused to awake. The world seemed to be in slow motion. Madeline sluggishly rose from cold sheets.  And wobbled downstairs, hands gripping tightly to the handles.

Madeline peered down the living room, there was but plastic covered furniture and a blanket of dust. The cold atmosphere rushed to invade her air. No family pictures hung on the walls. She could not sniff the aroma of freshly cooked breakfast that was supposed to be waiting for her in the kitchen. Nor was there a mother to tell her she was sick and could not got to school. No live flowers to say goodmorning to, only wilted ones. Nothing but hanging silence and utter emptyness.

"oh, right." Madeline thought. She was already dead.