The cogs in Ronard’s head started spinning out of control as he read the essay prompt on the application to his ideal college, the Arkansas School of Stuff.

“If you were, hypothetically, a dress shoe,” read the prompt, “what side would you order with a steak? Assume for the sake of the essay that dress shoes can eat, and also that none are vegetarians. Finally, keep in mind that the dress shoe represents the aristocracy of the upper middle class. Think about how the side-dish ordered will affect the working class boots and slippers of the land.”

Ronard swiftly but carefully pieced together his literary magnum opus and sent it off in the mail. Weeks passed. When the response finally came, Ronard was speechless.

“Why the hell would a dress shoe order asparagus? For goodness sake, read the prompt more carefully next time,” read the school’s response.

Ronard could do nothing but weep. He wept for hours.

Then he woke up. It was all a dream, and good thing, too! There wasn’t really a horribly inane essay prompt or giant purple scorpion wearing clown makeup just sitting there, staring; undressing him with its eyes. No, none of that was real. He let out a sigh of relief and collapsed back onto his pillow.

Then I woke up. It was all a terrible dream, but a dream that offered clarity. I knew what I had to do. I was going to write a newspaper column about something that bugs me, and it was going to be the column that changed the world.

But the question was “What to write about?” It’s hard to come up with something when all one’s favorite topics are deemed inappropriate for a school newspaper. For example, I strongly dislike organized religion, particularly Christianity, but no column criticizing the second biggest religion in the world would get printed. Plus, no amount of Street Fighter skills would be able to protect me when the populations of all 665 churches in Hastings came after me.

The more pretentious route was also available: an epic rant, rife with paranoia, condemning society and pointing my finger at the Man everywhere I could see Him. I could have written about how the media shoehorns us into our race roles, or I could have sparked some controversy by playing the drug card.

But no, that column wouldn’t do. That column wouldn’t change a thing. That column probably wouldn’t even have been read.

No, what I needed was to take a step back. I needed a big picture. Life, as a teenager, in Hastings was close. Life as a teenager in America was closer. Life as a teenager on Earth was almost on the mark. Life, just life, was right on the money.

I wrote furiously, that fever of creativity burning throughout my body. Words burst forth from a brain no one would recognize, and were just as fast rejected. The clock ticked as time stumbled forward, at times seeming to stumble back. Life: something that everyone can relate to but none understand. We wake up, do stuff, and then sleep. Why? No one cares why. The ones that care about why usually end up doing terrible things when they can’t find an answer.

I wrote and wrote and after a time it was done.

Unfortunately it was pretty lousy so I threw it out.