I don’t get it. That’s all there is to it and all that needs to be said. Why, why, why? You make it seem so meticulous, following some word equation for happiness. Intro plus body paragraph. Don’t forget to add reasons. Make sure to tie it into the main point - your thesis statement.
My thesis statement: I don’t need a word equation for happiness.
I feel fervid red fade away mid-conceptualization to be replaced with a stolid blue. Staring at the paper, the words blur. So many possibilities that could’ve happened. I had so many to choose from. However, this stupid calculation snatches so many answers away from me.
Being filled with you is…
Being filled with you is…
My heart stirrs as I feel all options fade away. Red, blue, yellow, black; it all disappears. Looking to replace what I’m losing, I flash my gaze towards the window, away from the blank paper with so many stolen possibilities. How long with this painfully slow progression last? I’m just delaying the means to an end, I tell myself. My eyes twitch, trying to deny the reality inside my head. Do I really have to? my thoughts whine. I grasp the pen, flexing my hand while holding it. Biting my lip, I spill the void that is my heart out onto the paper. It bleeds messily in black ink, looking ugly and savage.
Three reasons. That’s all I need. But that mere three stretches out miles ahead of me. I gaze into the distance, trying to pick up my ever-slowing pace to reach the end. A sickening feeling crawls through me as I peruse the black bloodstains I left on the paper.
“‘Yesterday is history, tomorrow’s a mystery.’ These words were spoken by the great Aristotle as he made one of his greatest discoveries.”
For a moment, my hands twitch as if they have a mind of their own and want to tear the paper apart. I almost allow them. What have I created? Despite how much I had just emptied my heart, it churns inside me. Will the pain ever cease? What color is this? I ask myself as despair flows over me. I sink lower into the river as I feel myself suffocating. Five feet, ten feet, fifteen, twenty…
Wait.
Despite my screams of protest, I jerk my hand out and haul myself upwards. Gasping for air, I stare down at the stained paper and its wrong words. Wrong, wrong, wrong. The disillusionment I feel at the assignment nips the back of my neck. Will adding a verb help? Or maybe I should divide by a conjunction. So many different thoughts swirl around in my head. Is this the one with the square root? I desperately try to write an answer.
“Aristotle was one of the greatest philosophers of all time because -” Because…? Perhaps I don’t need an answer. If we keep carrying on like this, I’ll prolong the time before the Bad End. But do I really want to? Surely, surely, I want to ask why I have to have this Bad End in the first place. Is it too late to branch off to a better path? Because as long as I’m struggling with you, I want to make it work. The monotony of the assignment and your brash words clash intensely in my mind.
“Creativity has nothing to do with it. So long as you don’t stray from the path the equation gives you, you will find a conclusion. This lost mess is not good academic writing.”
Those words of your enclose me in a tight cage, barely letting in even air. In the world of academic writing, I am no more than a squirrel jumping from branch to branch, so intent on getting from A to B that it doesn’t care about how it gets there. My paragraphs are short and untidy. I am lacking a conclusion. This reason doesn’t match the others. Not enough detail. Off-topic. Bad organization. Too personal. Your reasons list on and on while my mind races.
Flick-tap, flick-tap, flick-tap… The strum of my pen hitting the paper rhythmically snaps me out of my stupor. One more paragraph to go. I stare at the vile words, until I no longer see them. My pen scribbles blindly, carving the words deep into the paper - and into my flesh. Blood/ink wells up behind the instrument as it drags on. Not a sound escapes my mouth until the pen stops. The only thing injured is my pride as I gaze at the paper. Three pages of clumsy points and negligent sentences. I hold back the emotion threatening to burst free and soak the paper as I write the conclusion. Persuade my point without making it personal. Don’t state my opinion. Be resolute.
My tears spill down as I push the paper away. Where’s the passion? The paper stares back at me with the sterile gaze of a hospital room. It’s done. There isn’t anything left to say. The ugly words written on this paper will be handed back to me in a few days, surrounded in red. The red mid-conceptualization that I had replaced with blue. The angry red that promises a bad grade. The angry red that promises me a disappointed you.
I pick together my papers, taking my time. How can I face today after this? Everything’s gone. All the colors were sucked into that paper, much as I loath it. I’m surrounded by this brightness that I no longer have. The answer of a happy life eludes me as I stumble around, numb. Sitting in the cage of next period, I see the brushes and palette in front of me. Despite my efforts to imbue some sort of stir inside myself, the paint brings nothing. Looking out the window, I feel some kind of foreign elation run through me. Suddenly, the thought occurs to me that I could just rise up and float out the window away from here. Away from the “here” that binds me to this world and off to Neverland I shall go. I’ll never look back. Never, never, never, again, the words sing to me. However, nothing happens. I sit on the chair that doesn’t move in the room that doesn’t move in the school that doesn’t move in the town that doesn’t move in the world that moves without it.
I sigh and stare out the window. “Aristotle is one of the greatest philosophers who ever lived because he contributed to nearly every single subject that existed at the time, tutored Alexander the Great, and formulated the Aristotelian syllogistic.” And as those words leave my mouth, I feel you behind me. I smile. “Is there something you’d like to discuss?”
You open your mouth.
Fin
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Canary word: Present
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125,020 Literary Works • 672,861 Reviews
This had a very good concept behind it. I'm not lying about that, by the way--I would genuinely read about an artistic student going against the conventional rules of academic writing. Because academic writing doesn't treat the patrons of the arts well. It's a black hole of objectivity, something that does not allow melodrama or exaggeration, only cold hard facts used to fuel other academic papers that will later on fuel fiction and later on fuel imagination that will either fuel academic papers or more fiction. It's a vicious cycle, but a productive one. When they say you can't make something out of nothing, I point to them, simply, at how the hollow nature of academic papers and the sterility of fact can fuel the imagination of fiction.
Of course, I'm rambling again. Let's begin this review with the highlights:
-"How long with this painfully slow progression last?" Will, not with. At least, I think it's more towards 'will' not 'with'.
-"Because as long as I’m struggling with you, I want to make it work. " This was the abrupt sentence that brought in the 'You' character. At first I thought you was a lover, but then I realized it fit towards the English teacher archetype more. I think you could've transitioned the introduction to 'You' a bit more, have it be mentioned in the beginning so the audience isn't as shocked when it appears in the middle of the text.
-"Those words of your enclose me in a tight cage" 'Yours', not 'your'.
Now, onto the more substantial portion of the review:
I have very little to say because this work is doing well for itself on its own. Overall, it knows what it wants and it has great focus on the work, despite the protagonist initially complaining about how their work tends to be unfocused.
I feel like you could've characterized 'you' better. You implied 'You', sure, but the protagonist seems determined to only paint 'You' as the anonymous force that sucks the creativity from their veins. Hell, maybe 'You' is the anonymous force that sucks the creativity from their veins. But if it is an actual person, describing their frown at the protagonists red papers and their words of admonishment would make them seem real and stand out more.
Other than that, I generally liked this work. It isn't my favorite thing in the world, but I like how it likened the art of academic papers to mathematics, a stereotypically cold line of work It's very smart in that way, and I think you could've used more of those mathematic allusions.
Good job, overall.
Signing out,
--EM.
Wow! That was very well written. I could feel the anguish that the narrator was feeling. It is also very relatable in the way that the narrator dreaded having to write an essay. I personally have trouble writing when I'm forced to write about specific topics. My only critique( as I didn't find any grammatical, syntax, etc mistakes overall) is about the ending. I don't understand who the person who walked up behind him is. It seems like the person appeared out of thin air. I'm sorry if it is stated as to who the person is and I just didn't read the story clearly. I just thought that should be made clearer.