My little sister is my first guest blogger!
Hannah missed two days of her hippie dippie private school (to go to the Bahamas with my parents - not fair) so her teacher, who she calls Jake..., told her to write a paper rather than do the easy assignment all her friends got to do. Her mission: write a paper in the style of Kafka. She was not happy about the assignment and didn't know what to do, but she eventually figured it out and came up with this. I am super proud of her and super entertained by her screw you attitude. Enjoy!
Part 1:
The girl opens her computer. An email from him entitled “Your Mission” is at the top of her inbox. As she reads over the requirements of her assignment, her heart sinks. Her brain has already begun its futile attempt at finding ideas, it searches and searches but nothing surfaces. She begins to accept that this is not a task she will be able to accomplish easily. Her fate is in his hands, and she knows if she does not accomplish this task, there will be consequences.
She looks outside for some type of inspiration. There is no sun. Only dark grey clouds and a light mist falling from the sky. It’s as if the sky is a reflection of what is inside her brain, no light, not even the slightest glimmer of an idea shining through the dark clouds of doubt.
She stares at the blank page in front of her and begins to write, the feeling of complete failure already prevalent in every word she scribbles. The words sound even duller on paper than they did in her head. She crumples the paper as tears of frustration fall from her eyes. The words “I’m not good enough” repeat over and over in her head.
Suddenly the girl realizes that she has time. “This assignment does not need to be completed until later,” she tells herself. She decides to carry on with her everyday activities. She goes to school and work and volunteering, she spends time with her friends and her family. But no matter where she goes, whom she’s with, or what she’s doing, the thought of her assignment follows her like a shadow, its dark and ominous presence intruding on her every thought.
Every night before she goes to bed, she runs over what she must do in her mind and prays that she will wake up with some idea of how to accomplish this overbearing assignment.
Part 2:
It is the day before the deadline. Her assignment is due tomorrow. How will she accomplish it? Who can she ask for help? Does anybody even care if she fails? All these questions and more race through her mind. And then suddenly she realizes that nobody can help her. Nobody can do this assignment for her. It is completely up to her to come up with something, anything to write. Feelings of helplessness, abandonment and frustration cloud her every thought making it impossible for her to come up with an idea. Her mind is going in circles, as if she is having a conversation with herself inside her head.
“Do I really have to do this?”
“It has to be done. There is no question.”
“ Who can help me?”
“Nobody. This is up to you”
“What do I do now?”
“Write something, anything, just get it over with.”
As she begins to write embarrassment creeps up on her making her feel insecure and incapable of continuing. She knows it sounds stupid. She knows that he will think she’s dumb as he reads what she’s turned in to him.
Once again she crumples the paper in front of her. She hates how unproductive she is being. She hates how dumb every word that comes from her pencil sounds. She hates this assignment, everything about it. Once again, frustrated tears fall from her eyes as she picks up her phone. It rings.
“Hello?”
“Help me.”
“What’s up?”
“I can’t do this assignment. I can’t.”
“Just be creative, let your creative juices flow.”
Creativity. The one subject her brain has yet to develop. Or probably will never develop all together. This exact thing is what is inhibiting her ability to complete this assignment. She realizes her friend will be no help.
“Okay, thanks.”
“Good luck!”
“Bye.”
Suddenly she realizes she has spent the past week agonizing over this assignment and it has gotten her nowhere. She knows what she has to do. She will write something, anything and follow the guidelines no matter how stupid it sounds. She must turn something into him, to avoid the horrible consequences she’d be facing if she didn’t.
Part 3:
She is once again sitting at her desk with a piece of paper in front of her. Hours have passed. It is close to midnight and her eyelids are beginning to feel heavier and heavier with every tick of the clock on her wall.
Three pages. She has written three pages and only has two more to go. She begins her writing at the top of the fourth page. That’s when she feels it, the subtle shaking of the ground beneath her feet.
She looks up from her paper, alarmed.
The shaking becomes stronger and more violent; pictures are falling from the walls, furniture crashing to the floor around her. She stands up from the desk and runs to the door but trips on a pair of shoes, as she’s falling to the ground she hits her head on her dresser, pain coursing through her as she hits the floor.
She can no longer tell if it’s the earthquake making the room around her shake and spin, or if it’s a result of the impact.
“My assignment. I didn’t finish my assignment.” She thinks to herself.
Stars are creeping into her field of vision. The fan on the ceiling above her head is shaking vigorously. If she weren’t so preoccupied with the thought of her unfinished assignment she may have noticed that it was beginning to come loose.
Her last thought before slipping completely under is of how she spent the last week agonizing over this project and she didn’t even finish it.
As the house continues to shake, the fan falls from the ceiling onto her head.
“Hannah!!! Are you okay?!” Her mom calls out to her and runs up the stairs.
There is no response, and as her mom turns the corner into her room she begins to scream. She screams and screams until the shaking stops and lies down next to her daughter as she sobs. The papers with the unfinished assignment written in Hannah’s neat handwriting float silently to the ground next to their bodies.
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