The year is 2013. A girl, approximately 16 years and 91 days old, sits at her computer, and stares at the brightly lit keys that illuminate her room. A blank word document stares back at her, mocking her, as if it knows she has an essay due tomorrow. There’s silence. Actually, there’s a TV on in the background, but besides that, silence.

She cracks her knuckles, almost ready to write, when she remembers something. Something…important. But not to the story. It was just that she had to take out the garbage in a few hours, and this story isn’t supposed to be trash.

A few minutes pass, and the girl can finally see that she has absolutely no idea what to write about. Her backpack, covered in shining buttons and mini pins, holds a paper. A paper, so sacred, that the girl could not fathom how she could forget about it. She strolls over to the bag and unzips it ever so carefully, as if not wanting to disturb her other work, and takes out the sheet that gives the exact qualifications for the essay and what she could possibly write about. Thinking for a long and hard 2 minutes and 7 seconds, the girl still had not a clue about what to write about. Ha, you thought she would know? You’re wrong. But not entirely, as the girl now understood what this piece of writing was for. It was for a writing competition. Suspiciously much like this one, but let’s not get too caught up in coincidences.

“One ten minutes break,” the girl stated, truly believing she would be back to write her essay in ten minutes. Although she thought it was 10 minutes, it really ended up being approximately 3 days. She went to her drawer to obtain new socks, considering she’d been wearing the same ones for 3 days. What the hell did I do to deserve this essay, and WHAT WILL I WRITE -? thought the girl, but the thought was interrupted with a painful cry of agony as she stubbed her toe against a cabinet. Stepping down stairs to her kitchen, she seemed calm and cool on the out side, yet she was exploding on the inside. Looking for inspiration in every food and spice, she ended up banging her head again her outdated GE refrigerator over and over, until she made a massive bump on her head, which looked like a quite large pimple. “God damn it, now I have no essay, no inspiration and a pimple-bump on my head. I don’t even have matching socks on!” she grumbled. With those mismatched socks on her feet, she straggled up the stairs back to her bedroom to “work on her essay”.

In her room stood the laptop, perfectly centered on her desk, already opened, and it looked as though someone had already began typing the essay. She toddled in a daze to the computer, and gently sat down on the reused piano bench in front of the desk to start the piece, when she suddenly knows exactly what she’s going to write about. Speaking softly, she recites what she typed.
“The year was 2013.”