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response to Shirley Jackson's "The Lottery"

"It is completely normal to be afraid of your computer mouse,"

My hands are slick with the liquid anxiety percolating on my palms. 

My eyes dart across the room as though the piece of lint on my stairwell will save me from the inevitable.

They settle for the clock instead,

Drat, fifteen minutes till.

Something inside of me plummets, and the swoosh of its impact sends my sanity swirling into oblivion.

"What are words?" "Why must I speak them?" "Isn't my knowledge of words enough for you?"

Ten minutes... Gahh

It was a bomb, an explosion that found its way to the depths of my abdomen

Bursts of heat sprout under my skin and consume my being.

My stomach is empty and raging, fluttering, flitting about with fate.

There's a tremor in the swords extending from me, growing ever stronger, threatening to never cease.

Carelessly slicing through the air hovering over the keyboard, suspended by an invisible barrier between myself and failure.

It doesn't matter that I completed the assignment in advance. The amount I've stressed over this assignment is negligible because as soon as my screen lights up all I know is fear.

Fear of failure, fear of judgement, fear to open my mouth in front of others because what could I possibly have to offer?

You know wasting a person's time is like robbing them of five minutes of their life. Technically I'm cutting their life short, doesn't that suck, doesn't that mean I'm kind of a murderer, or at least a sinful distraction.

My teacher's tongue resembles that of a gun, his class is a russian roulette, he calls out names and I pray he'll come up empty on mine. Maybe he'll miss, but of course he has unmatched marksmanship.

It's perfectly normal to fear your own computer mouse. That mouse is a gateway to the minds, ears, and judgment of other people. 




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