Mind WriterA Story by Sophieanother prompt, we had to describe something that's 'impossible', I just chose to put mine in a scene
Essays. Essays, essays, essays... You'd think that maybe in the year 3,045, teachers would have figured it out that homework really SUCKS. But of course not, the universe just hates kids. Humans have evolved, and I estimate that you're reading this in the year 2,012, so long ago. I wonder if you looked different, you're so primitive! With your paper money and your gravity bound transportation... what's it called? Cars, right. We're smarter now, the average IQ is 130, mine happens to be 190, I'm smarter than your average bear. ( I heard that was a saying back then, but I don't know what a bear is.) I sit down at my desk, which, judging from the pictures of teenage human rooms in textbooks from your time, they look relatively similar. I pick up my black ink pen and a few pieces of paper, and start writing. But my mind wanders off, as it so often does, grabbing at tiny details and enhancing them, getting all the information from them as I can, such as the way my capital T's look, how the line crossing the top is slanted instead of perfectly straight, and how that implies that I'm writing quickly, my hand beginning to cramp. By the end of page one, I've forgotten what I'm writing about, it's merely a minor worry in the back of my mind. Only taking a small amount of brain power to process and write the information about The Civil War. I can't believe people were so stupid to argue over skin color, and then kill their own brothers. My hand cramps, and my full attention goes to my essay. I drop the pen, wishing it could just read my mind and write it down, but who knows what would end up on that piece of paper. My mind wanders off with the idea, almost a daydream. I'm not a writer, I'm not a fan of it, so if something would do it for me, that would be wonderful... When I come to, my multi-tasking mind has made my hands move. They are now fiddling with the pen, different materials, wires, tools. When did I get up and get those? Such is the life of a wandering mind. I decide to zone out once more, because if I pay attention to what I'm doing, I'll have to actually command my brain to know what it's doing and how, and I find I do a better job when I'm not consciously thinking about it. When I emerge from the dust once more, floating in front of me, is a pen. During the civil war I think, the pen scrawls across the page, the words appearing in my quirky handwriting. And so, the Mind Writer was born. © 2012 SophieAuthor's Note
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6 Reviews Added on July 18, 2012 Last Updated on July 18, 2012 AuthorSophie-, MAAboutI'm 16 in my sophomore year of high school, I started on this site when i was 14, took about a year break and now i might be back, im just fixing my description because i was annoying as f**k last yea.. more..Writing
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