I wasn’t always afraid of myself. But then something happened that turned me into my own worst enemy. Now, I am terrified of myself, always looking inward for some internal conflict. It wasn’t that long ago. The day started like every other day. I got up, got ready, and went to school: first AP Calc, Japanese 3, AP History, and then AP English III. I would raise my hand to answer every question, for I knew all the answers, and when my response was not quite on target, (my margin for error is slightly off-center in the bull’s-eye), there was always a simple rational, (explanation), for my minor error, but more on that later.
English, that’s where it all started. We were on a strange schedule and our teacher was giving us time to work on an essay. I particularly enjoyed this assignment because, if you couldn’t tell by the impeccable, (that’s outstanding, for those of you with less elevated diction), artisanship employed, (used), this work, I am a master of the craft.
Somewhere along the way someone, (I don’t remember their name, for they rarely offered input in class), asked me for a clarification of one of the devises we were to employ, (asyndeton, I use that one in my sleep.) You see I’m a genius, and that is no hyperbole, (as in an exaggeration not a conic.) I am quite literally, by definition, a genius. So, naturally people ask me for help, and, being the good Samaritan that I am, graciously oblige, (satisfy), them.
During the course of the hour, someone else asked me a question that I have come to consider a cliché. “Why are you so smart?”
I sighed. “First of all I have and eidetic, (photographic), memory, but also because I actually pay attention in class.” After I had finished speaking, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Instinctively I looked behind me, but all of my “AP classmates” were huddled in their cliques, more concerned with the minute’s gossip, undoubtedly illicitly elicited, (illegally retrieved), from their cell phones. Indubitably, (without doubt), none of them could have carried out such a phantasmal, (supernatural), act.
I shrugged it off and continued my work. With approximately thirty minutes left in class, I excused myself to the restroom. As I was drawing near the completion of my essay, I contemplated how I would utilize the remaining class time. When I had finished in the latrine, I resolved to bring Fujiwara Kaori further into her journey, for my muse had absconded, (took leave), from the topic of the essay, and entertained itself with the young samurai’s story of love and familial piety, (family loyalty.) I couldn’t attempt, most probably in vain, to coerce, (forcefully persuade), my creative genius to busy itself with the conclusion to an essay that I could easily complete later at the risk of such a breakthrough in my personal works.
That issue decided, I began to reach for the classroom door handle. Before I could grasp the argent, (silver), handlebar, a green fibrous arm flung me against the dry wall adjacent to the door. My brain released adrenals into my body that heightened my senses, marginalized my pain, and gave me enough strength to wield Mjölnir (myol-n(ee)r), that is Thor’s hammer. In short, I entered Fight or Flight. I looked down the second story hallway and saw a network of vines that were as thick as me, and moving independently of any external force. I had fallen into Devil’s Snare, and I didn’t think I was going to relax anytime soon.
I uttered a shriek that would put the horror industry to shame. Still, none of my classmates came to my rescue. Those infidels, (unfaithfuls), I give them some of my otherwise productive time to help them get the passing grade that will please their parents, (assuming they will do the minimal work required to do so), yet when I am in mortal danger they refuse to come to my aid. My yelp evidently angered the Vines, for it wrapped a sinewy arm around, restricting, but not completely cutting off, my breathing and circulation. My body responded by sending what oxygen rich blood I had to my brain, enabling me to utilize my beloved logic. Well read as I am, and able to cogitate, (think), again, I realized exactly what this thing was, and it was not from British fiction.
No, these vines had sprouted from the seed of Pride, and I do not believe they belonged to the branch of life, (that’s a reference to The Scarlet Ibis). I thus tasked myself with calculating a way out of my situation. Pride, however, did not make this very easy. It through me about, smashing me into and through the plaster wall of the learning institution, (I never needed to know what lay behind those.) At one point, Pride was using one of its arms to slap me in the face; at another, I believe, it forced me to do so.
Pride began to reel me into its heart at the end of the hall. It was quite pathetic. I was unable to cry for the next week, for I had run out of tears, I feared that my voice was shot for the rest of my life, and, apparently, I had not in fact finished in the bathroom. I screamed, “What do I do? Lord God, tell me what to do. I can’t do this, not on my own.”
Then, all at once, it stopped. Pride had vanished, the wall seemed untouched, my pants were not moist, and the clock did not reflect the time I had spent battling my Pride. But it happened, I was not dreaming. I stood at the point to which Pride dragged me like a fish on a hook, I had locked the event in the vault of my aforementioned memory; henceforth I was my own worst enemy.
Terrified, I hiked back to class. When I arrived, I heard someone ask for clarification on the definition of a metaphor. “It’s a reference to a past event,” I said, and I was right. I just lived through one, after all. Yes, a metaphor and an allusion had become synonymous to me. Everyone knew I was out of it. They pestered me with inquires as to my health and insisted I go to the nurse.
“Are you alright, Alex,” our teacher asked, “You look like you just took your head from the guillotine.” In truth, I had, and I put I my head there to begin with, but I assured them I was fine, and got to work on my short story. After my encounter with Pride, by a stroke of genius, I derived, (figured out), the end to my essay, but I feared that my duel with Pride might replace the point in my memory were the formerly mentioned breakthrough lay.
When, I returned to school the next day, I was still shaking from the events of the previous. At the beginning of English class, our teacher asked for our essays. I tensed up. The night before I was buried with homework and was unable to complete the essay. I was so sure I would be able to finish it with haste, (great speed), that I put it off. I felt a tap on my shoulder, but I didn’t dare turn around. Pride wouldn’t show its face in front of witnesses anyway.
Then our teacher said, “How ‘bout you, Alex? Would you like to have your essay read? You always do such great work.”