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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just something I wrote late at night one time

Submitted: March 09, 2013

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Submitted: March 09, 2013





Imagine you are sitting in a college course. The profesor walks up to his chalkboard, picks up his piece of chalk, and turns toward the class. He assumes a sharp expression and you sit forward attentively, paying little mind to those around you. He turns once again, briskly, and begins to write a formula on the board. You quickly copy it onto your pad of paper. The room goes silent. You look up, and notice he's ordered everyone in the room to solve it individually.

You look down at the formula, and realize you barely understand the language of the thing, certainly not enough to begin to understand the intricate concepts woven into it's symbols. You try to wrap your head around it, but just looking at it makes you feel smaller, less intelligent, less significant.

You look around the room, hoping to get a clue as to where you should begin, but it seems everyone else is just as lost as you are, in their own ways. Even the profesor makes no visible attempt to explain the mess you are holding in your hands. 

Although the formula in front of you is virtually impossible to understand for you, no matter how you look at it, you decide it's beautiful. You decide to play the game, and pretend like you know what you are doing, even though you don't. You set forth with little hesitation. You begin to scrawl some educated guesses on the pad.

After a little while though, you have doubts. Everything you've written on the paper, you erase. You tap the shoulder of the girl next to you and she gives you a sympathetic look. "This is hard," you mouth. She nods a little bit, sighs, and turns her attention back to her own work. You look around, maybe a little frantically, and begin to grasp that it truly is every man for himself. You slouch in your chair. 'This is pointless,' you think, 'This is difficult.' You decide to give up. You throw your pad on the floor with as much inflection as possible, with little reaction from those around you. The profesor taps his foot on the floor, and hums a tune. You begin to hate him. He gave you this impossible formula, and left you to solve it.

You get up, run down the stairs, and face him. Teary eyed and tired, you stand in front of him and cry, and shout. You keep yelling through the pain until your throat is raw. You fall to your knees and beg him to help you. He stands, silent as a stone, looming over you. After what seems like forever, he begins to smile. You look to your left to see the girl who was sitting next to you is now gently holding your arm .Confused, you let her lead you to the big mahogony doors. Your profesor stands like a proud parent. They both look a little sad as they gather you in a hug. "So this is it, huh." You say matter of factly, turning to face the door. She wipes a tear from her eye and drops your hand. You collect yourself and touch the handle. It feels cool on your hands. You had never realized how scared you were to leave this room, but as soon as you begin to appreciate it, the fear drops away. You sigh, steel your resolve and slowly...slowly open the door... 


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