This is just something that I wrote on the spot during my lunch break. There's nothing really introduced plotwise/storywise, so take it and do anything you wish with it.
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I sat quietly in the classroom. All around me were my peers, their pencils squeaking across the page. My own blue mechanical one was held still in my hand, and there were no marks scratched over the lines. The page was blank, my mind was blank.
I glanced up as Ms. Lloyd’s small shape floated over to me. Her eyes passed over my empty paper and she looked up to meet my eyes with admonishment. She shook her head slightly and moved behind me to my friend, Sara. I sighed.
I had nothing to write on my sheet. The words formed well within my mind, but as soon as my writing utensil touched the page, the words would sprawl messily about, mocking me. I hated, just hated, essays. I’d memorized the format, the question. I’d written many practice responses, but as soon as I passed through the English classroom threshold, it was death.
In my head, I’d always been good at words, as well as expelling them. My friends always said I told the best stories, had lovely prose. That was my strong point, not writing, no matter how hard I worked at fluidity and wording and formatting.
Ms. Lloyd’s small timer beeped obnoxiously and everyone rose together, moving in a herd toward the teacher who stood static at the front. Her hands were palms up, papers piling high upon them like the leaning tower of Piza. I came up last, the thin white sheet feeling heavy in my hands. I silently dropped it into the pile and I turned quickly away so I didn’t have to bear Ms. Lloyd’s torturous look. I shuffled back to my seat and plopped down ungracefully. I turned in my seat to talk to Sara, but all she did was frown reprovingly.
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