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Sweat dropped from his face onto the wordless slip of paper on his desk. He could smell himself, as if his rapidly beating heart wasn't enough for him to be self conscious. Not only had he struggled with writing, but also with existing in general. For many the written word can be considered an art form, but he considered it a nightmare. One that he has had to relive every year since middle school. He would constantly think to himself: What am I going to write? I can barely read!
Which was true, at least probably. He had done a great job of avoiding literature since he was a kid. He preferred stories to be told to him, usually in movie or tv show form. That was the lazy way out but that is his style. His pen bent from the pressure and trembling his hand was asserting upon it. All the other classmates were writing away as if they had no issues, probably because they weren't self-proclaimed idiots.
He considered himself to be dumb and lazy, so he acted the part. He was the only one stopping himself. So of course, time continued to drag on. Seconds turned into minutes, then hours. Until finally class was over and all he had written was his name and the date. Utter failure of an essay the he had ample time to commit himself to writing, and still failed. The topic was: What inspires you?
Maybe that was why he couldn't put down any words to paper, he has no inspiration. His only inspiration is what can be seen behind a screen. Afterwards, the school bells rang, he and the other classmates began to pack up to leave. As soon as he stepped outside the teacher jumped in front of his view.
She didn't say anything, she remained as silent as his essay was.
Not a word.
Sad really, she looked sad, but not surprised. He didn't know what to say, the same way he didn't know what to write, so he said nothing. And neither did she. They both stood their, staring at each other in silence. She finally pulled out the essay from her back pocket. It was folded up in half, so she faced it in front of him. Nothing was on it, except a name, date and big fat zero for a grade.
Zero, the exact amount of words he put in his essay.
He shrugged, this wasn't unusual. What could he do? What was done is done. All she could do was frown and hand him his paper back. The teacher finally stepped aside as he walked away, not turning back.
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