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Inaminate Perception

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“Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.”


Okay, I understand time is consuming but you don’t have to slap me in the face every time you pass a second of your life.

I sit at my desk frozen with a writing utensil barely in my hand. Please just fall from my hand effortlessly so even if I don’t use you tonight I’ll have even a little bit of an excuse to say why I didn’t write anything. “My pencil fell out of my hand”.

I occasionally look at him, hopelessly thinking he could let me escape from doing this, but he’s not breaking. He does very well under pressure. Although I told him “whatever you do don’t let me talk you out of it” I seriously don’t want to do this. He doesn’t show any emotion, just makes “ticking” noises to remind me of the time.

Jerk.

He stares at me, blinding me in guilt for wanting to take advantage of just leaving because he really doesn’t have the guts to stop me.

Suddenly, heat prevails from her. The difference between him and her… he gives me a little bit of a chance to redeem myself from all the time I've wasted but she immediately burns a whole through everything I do. She won’t shut up, too confident that she won’t fail. Always bright and loves to make me sweat under pressure.

Just forget about them, I keep telling myself, but I can’t overcome this block in my mind. Writer’s block? No, because isn’t that only for those who actually do write all the time. I’m not a writer. No, ever since I've met these two I've been distracted from all my work. They love to mock me when I’m confused with something. Once I've hit total blankness and vulnerability, they jump right into my mind and play tricks with me.

I, purposely, drop my pencil. I had to; it wouldn’t drop unintentionally so I helped. Alright… now what? I glance over at the clock and check the time. He rolls his eyes at me and I grit my teeth.

12:30.

I’m not supposed to be up. My parents don’t know about this assignment and they’d probably make a dramatic deal about it. No matter what, I still have to get it done so there’s really no point in lecturing me about it. That just makes him feel even greater about what he does to me.

I’m a competitive person. I don’t stop until I accomplish what I’m aiming for. But it’s usual not this hard. People say I procrastinate but I don’t think it’s a big deal. I feel if I wait until the last minute to do things I’ll definitely give it my all.

He calls me stupid for it and she laughs at me. They’re honestly not my friends so don’t worry if you think I think of them as companions, people I can trust. I’ll admit they’re trying to push me to do things but it’s also obvious they enjoy doing it because it bothers me. Really bothers me.

“The time. The time. The time,” he repeats every second. Nothing comes to my head. The assignment: write a letter to one of the presidents about their life. Let them know you’ve studied about them and ask them questions about what you found out about them.

It’s not my fault. It’s these two annoying pests. They won’t leave me alone. If I don’t finish this by tomorrow I can just blame these two. But would anyone believe me if I say a clock and a desk lamp prevented me from doing the assignment? It’s the truth so they should.

Life is so unfair, I start to think. I relax my head on the chair and close my eyes. The stupid clock is still talking and the lamp is still trying to draw every last bit of my attention to my paper.

I have a headache. That proves I’m not going crazy and they’re the one’s driving me insane!

I get up and lift the clock from the tack on the wall. I take out one of the batteries and throw the clock on my bed.

Finally: quietness. She even stops speaking. Scared aren’t you?

I sit back down in front of my desk and turn the lamp off as well. I feel good. Nothing spoke, nothing intimidated, nothing played little mind games with me.

John FK had an interesting life. Amazing how he was the youngest president ever elected. I smile to myself as how amazingly ideas actually poured into my mind. And as I struggle to find my pencil in the darkness my smile fades from my face.

My pencil is in my hands, but I realize something… I can’t see nor write in the dark.

And they both laugh at me.




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