A calming silence broods over the small room lit by the light of a computer screen on the laps of a girl sitting on her bed with her back against the wall. It’s 9PM on a Tuesday night, not just any Tuesday but the Tuesday before the Wednesday of her English assignment’s due date. She had been procrastinating, but tonight she’s going to try and finish it, not that she already started on it. She sighs loudly to express her stress, though ended up sounding more like a snoring pig crying for food. She has been sitting there just staring at her computer screen for a good ten minutes before opening up an empty word document that she had previously saved as “Literacy Narrative” three weeks ago when it was assigned. She checks the time again 9:14
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How on this hellish earth could she ever write an a thousand words essay of her personal experience? Or at least that’s the gist that she got out of it as she didn’t completely understand what she should be doing. The girl then reread the sample literacy narrative provided by her professor, still struggling to understand the concept of what a literacy narrative is or how it should look like if she’s going to write one. Should she write in first person or third? The sample is in first person, but she had never been very good at writing in first person. It would sound too personal and would start to look like an entry from her diary that she kept in fifth grade. She starts typing and stopped at mid-sentence when a thought suddenly occurred to her, writing in third person would just look like she’s trying to write a story. That wouldn’t be good, she’s not trying to write a story, she needs to write a literacy narrative, whatever it may be. The girl taps abruptly on the delete key, erasing the few words of a sentence she wrote, regretting not starting on this assignment any …show more content…
“Good enough.” She told herself. She’s too tired to write anymore. She can’t write anymore. She’s out of thing to say.
“You know that’s crap, right?” Her consciousness says after a long silent. The girl is now leaning sluggardly in the corner of the room with her eyes just barely open staring blankly at her sun radiated computer screen. The girl didn’t answer, she already knew that, but honestly at this point she could care less about it. It’s late and this only what she have, might as well just turn it in for some credits.
“I am just going to patiently wait until you get your paper back and watch you cry.” Her consciousness said, in a tone of voice the girl can’t determine whether or not it’s sarcasm. The girl becomes agitated with her consciousness’ comment and starts to read her essay again, fixing the small mistakes she see along the way. After finishing, rather than the frown she had on when she first started, the ends of her lip stretches just a tiny bit toward her ears.
“What are you smiling about?” Her consciousness
How on this hellish earth could she ever write an a thousand words essay of her personal experience? Or at least that’s the gist that she got out of it as she didn’t completely understand what she should be doing. The girl then reread the sample literacy narrative provided by her professor, still struggling to understand the concept of what a literacy narrative is or how it should look like if she’s going to write one. Should she write in first person or third? The sample is in first person, but she had never been very good at writing in first person. It would sound too personal and would start to look like an entry from her diary that she kept in fifth grade. She starts typing and stopped at mid-sentence when a thought suddenly occurred to her, writing in third person would just look like she’s trying to write a story. That wouldn’t be good, she’s not trying to write a story, she needs to write a literacy narrative, whatever it may be. The girl taps abruptly on the delete key, erasing the few words of a sentence she wrote, regretting not starting on this assignment any …show more content…
“Good enough.” She told herself. She’s too tired to write anymore. She can’t write anymore. She’s out of thing to say.
“You know that’s crap, right?” Her consciousness says after a long silent. The girl is now leaning sluggardly in the corner of the room with her eyes just barely open staring blankly at her sun radiated computer screen. The girl didn’t answer, she already knew that, but honestly at this point she could care less about it. It’s late and this only what she have, might as well just turn it in for some credits.
“I am just going to patiently wait until you get your paper back and watch you cry.” Her consciousness said, in a tone of voice the girl can’t determine whether or not it’s sarcasm. The girl becomes agitated with her consciousness’ comment and starts to read her essay again, fixing the small mistakes she see along the way. After finishing, rather than the frown she had on when she first started, the ends of her lip stretches just a tiny bit toward her ears.
“What are you smiling about?” Her consciousness