At The Eleventh Hour

Maryam Qureshi

He snoozed off the annoying alarm just to have a ten minutes nap. Every morning it would be difficult for him to get himself ready for his office until the eleventh hour. No matter what day, month or year it would be, he would always be in haste, driving on fast wheels, trying not to bump into other cars in order to reach his workplace on time. He never wakes up on time thus would never be able to reach his office but at the eleventh hour. His name was John and he was famous for being a sloth.

While writing a paragraph her fingers were running like a squirrel’s feet. Her name was Tara. She was a budding writer. Tara was trying to complete her project as the magazine’s submission deadline was near at hand. It was her routine to start writing her projects just few hours before the alarming deadline. Tara was an epitome of a perfect procrastinator. Girls like Tara would always prefer to be in a To be or Not to be kind of state whenever they were asked to complete their work according to the availed time. She remained awake all night to submit her piece of writing no earlier the eleventh hour.

The night was over. The sun shone at her full bloom like a nurturer who would shower his heavenly sunshine to give life to all that is present on Earth, a dutiful soldier who always manages to accomplish his tasks earlier than the Eleventh Hour.

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