Start of second chapter.

May 2^nd, 2004. 6am.

Matt woke up with a start. He had woken up six times in the last five hours and checked the clock beside his bed, each time realizing that he still had a few more precious hours left to sleep. Though he had finally managed get to sleep eight hours before, it was a tortured sleep, marred by nightmares of over-sleeping so intense that he had actually broken into a cold sweat. Today was the day. The day he would finally come face to face with Trent Wallace. He checked the alarm clock again, and immediately his heart started pounding, his head spinning. Such was the impact that the flashing lights had on Matt’s state of mental well-being. Flashing. 12:00AM. If a personal message from Satan had appeared on the digital display Matt would have welcomed it more warmly. The power. It had gone off. When? He must have been awake for at least two thirds of the night, Matt thought as he flung himself out of bed. His wrist watch said 6:30am. Forty-five minutes later than scheduled, he realized. He could feel his heart banging against his ribcage like some biological drum gone amok. He cast a furtive glance at his backup alarm, knowing already that it had been hit with the same plague. The bus left in 20 minutes.

Five minutes later, after a rushed shower, and he was loathed to rush his showers, Matt was at the breakfast table inhaling a bowl of cornflakes. Two minutes after that, Matt was in his room, panting after climbing the stairs three at a time. So much for all the football training, he thought angrily. He dressed in record time, and congratulated himself for having presence of mind to lay everything out the night before. Ten minutes left, he thought and began to relax slightly. He had printed out his questions for Mr. Wallace, for while this day was considered a prize, the opportunity to interview Trent Wallace was one that Matt, as the school newspaper’s editor-in-chief, could not pass up. His carefully scripted questions were Matt’s best work to date; tactful yet pointed, witty yet unobtrusive. With his father’s worn leather briefcase in one hand, and Pulitzer-prize worthy notes in the other, Matt flew down the stairs and decided he had time for a coffee. Matt’s faithful seven year old Golden Retriever Sammy awoke and rushed to say good-morning. In seven short years Sammy had become the most beloved member of the family. With her easy demeanour and bright auburn coat, Sammy never hurt for attention, and this morning she demanded it from Matt. Her nose muzzled into his calf. Matt couldn’t resist. While bending down to pat her, Matt lost control of his coffee cup. Though he rescued the mug, he couldn’t do the same for his best shirt, which was now blighted by an ugly brown stain. Unbelievable, thought Matt, and took off again for his room. Armed with a new white shirt, power-red coloured tie, pin-striped charcoal suit, and five minutes to spare, Matt raced out the door, looking every bit the part of a typical Wall Streeter.

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There is more, but it only gets worse, and I shall not be posting it for fear of irreparable damage to my reputation.
More average blogging to follow.
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