Short Story- A Memoir | Teen Ink

Short Story- A Memoir

June 11, 2010
By TortelliniPen BRONZE, Pawtucket, Rhode Island
TortelliniPen BRONZE, Pawtucket, Rhode Island
4 articles 0 photos 4 comments

Favorite Quote:
"80% of quotes are made up"- Gandhi

7:00 pm

Today was a beautiful day.

The sky, earlier an endless expanse of blue interrupted only by the occasional wandering cloud, is now set aflame with the oranges and reds from the setting sun. Meanwhile, a breeze gently rocks the trees to sleep, and the rustling of the leaves and the grass creates a symphony on par with anything Mozart or Pachelbel ever composed. Below, the cars scurry about like ants on the ground, hurrying off into the darkening horizon.

Of course, none of this matters much to me, as I hopelessly stare at a blank Word document. I remembered the assignment given the day before. It had seemed so simple- just write a rough draft of a short story. I had taken the assignment with a naïve confidence, looking forward to a relaxing couple of hours of lazy creativity. Now, after five hours and a grand total of five words, here I sat, a black cursor staring me at the face.

Maybe some music will help me concentrate. I open up YouTube and play a video of Canon in D. I have no idea what "Canon in D" means, but it doesn't matter right now. I open back up the Word document and begin to type again.

10:00 pm

Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock…
As the stars light up the night sky, the clock continues its monotonous ticking, it's slow, inevitable march toward oblivion… at least, it would be, if the time wasn't just a few numbers flashing on my computer screen. For some reason, the passage of time seems a lot less metaphoric when it's so impersonal as a couple of pixels on the bottom right.

As you can tell by the fact that you are able to read this, I am still not done with my assignment. In fact, I've been sitting here typing self-reflective purple prose for over an hour. Probably not the best work ethic. Why is it that I can seemingly write about every topic known to man, but when it comes to the subject that my grade seems to depend upon, I draw a blank? Why am I writing about writer's block when I should be working on whatever I was supposed to be writing about? I grab a cup of warm coffee and once more, begin typing.

Wait… what was I writing about again?

Oh yeah! It was all about-

12:00 am

How long is this story going to take? I think I'm about halfway through, but it took so long to get me this far, I'm beginning to worry. If by worry you mean get angry. Of course, staying up late is nothing new to me- in fact, most days this is the time where I normally go to bed. Unfortunately, today (or yesterday?) is work-all-night-because-you-procrastinated-all-day-day, and so I don't think I'm going to sleep for a while. The music, the endlessly repeating, looping, redundant mantra of violins and pianos and other instruments people listen to just to brand themselves the title of "aesthete", has long since gone off. If I have to listen to one more masterpiece, I'm going to rearrange my computer and sell it as modern art.

Great, I'm telling terrible jokes. I've got to finish soon…

1:00 am

3 pages in now. I'm too tired for long-winded, fourth wall-breaking paragraphs. The story is way too long, and the language is about as good as a drunk guy's, or a fan-fiction writer… oh wait, that's a little harsh. Sorry drunk dudes. The language is deterirora…dtreriora…deteriorior…its getting worse. But, I'm too far in to stop now. I can't stop now…

2:30 am

Can't keep this up for much water. I mean longer. The sentences are… blending into each other. A myriad mix of words and articles and dots and points… all of the words are being lost in the abyss… and that cursor… it just stands there. Blinking at me. Taunting at me… But I won't let it win… all it takes is one more word… then another… and another… and…

4:00 am

More… more words… story not finished yet… I can't finish… can never finish… but still need more words… can never stop…just keep on typing words…and words…and words…

5:00 am

Done now.
Why, though?
For what reason?
For a story?
For a grade?
For a life?
Why live?
Why not?
Why not sleep?
Sleep forever?

9:00 am

Me give light box paper to teacher. Teacher look at me funny, tell me it due tomorrow. Then put "C" on paper. That makes me angry. Me angry! Me destroy story! Me destroy teacher! Me destroy everything!! HahahahahHAhHAhhHahHAhAHahHAhAHAhAhAHAhAhAhAhahahahahhahahahaHAHAHAhahahhhAHA!!!!!



The author's comments:
This is almost a true story.

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