At the creaky, cluttered desk, a stubborn skeleton sat, silently staring at a sheet of paper. Its bony fingers clutched the page like it still had some serious, secret job to do. The black rotary phone waited wickedly, refusing to ring, as if it enjoyed the skeleton’s sad situation. Dusty, drooping books leaned lazily on the desk, looking tired of telling their tales, while the ink bottle sat smugly, sure no new words would spill from it. In the corner, the calendar counted the creeping days, grinning as the patient prisoner of paperwork slowly turned to bone.