It wasn’t a bird, it was a plane, I’m telling you. I’m not insane; I can’t alter the way my dreams self-create. Anyways, I wasn’t awake because I was in a compromised mental state, and who would choose to wake up when they were riding on top of an aircraft, literally side-saddle on top of an aircraft, just to finish working on an essay draft?
So that’s really the reason that I didn’t turn my English homework in on time; well, that and the fact that I didn’t sleep too well last night. Really, this is partially on me because I didn’t ask for an extension. I really didn’t want to email you and then repent it, because you’re a busy man and this is a petty request, so I thought it would be all right if I turned everything in before the test.
Why couldn’t I sleep well? That’s a good question. Unfortunately, some of the blame is on you—forgive me for being impetuous, but I’ll have to rush through the explanation. I was deep in concentration at the library, sequestered in a corner mustering the courage to refresh my rustiness on the subject, when a dark drowsiness, a solemn sleepiness, stuck its claws in my mind, so I let go of the pencil and opted to recline.
See, I had a terrible nightmare in which you stared into my soul, laughing fanatically as your hands rolled up balls of paper and threw them at me. Your mighty red grading pen swept me off my feet, a feat all too easy considering everything was scaled to thrice the size of me. A single tear of mine turned into a circular puddle on the floor, a hurdle in my rush to the door with nothing more than a will to somehow survive this judgement day (despite the delay I introduced when I chose to procrastinate, a decision induced by maybe one too many games of beer pong or one too many tear drops on the keyboard of my laptop).
Professor, you should really understand that there’s little that I could do. I was a frozen statue after that vivid unreality, aware that I was awake but unable to do anything but remain in that chair surrounded by my bad decisions and the ones still pending (hey, those might well have a happy ending, we can’t deny that).
And then! A godsend, a re-emergence into unconsciousness, where, as I said before, I was soaring with wind on my fingertips and an itching, undeniable thirst for the freedom that I so clearly had.
Maybe you could accept this email as my submission! It’s the most work I’ve done all semester, and you know that’s not fiction (see, I know some literature jargon). Please reconsider the F you’ve affixed to my transcript, as I’m sure that this somewhat fits into what the prompt is, based off the assignment you sent to me last month:
Re: We need to discuss your incredibly prolonged procrastination on the 20-page analysis, my office on Friday.