Time slows down the six seconds of mental preparation I take prior to my battle. I face the daunting, endless, white expanse of emptiness. The blue and red lines break it up, a pathetic attempt to make this harsh vastness orderly and manageable and it’s as reassuring as a consolation prize. I once believed that I would be victorious if I just slashed between enough of the blue and red lines but I won’t be fooled this time. It has nothing to do with how many stabs one takes at this beast. Instead, it has everything to do with how one goes about stabbing this beast. It’s freakish, wide eyes glare into the very core of my existence. I am judged before I even make the attack. My opponent has defeated people far greater and stronger than me. On some rare conditions it may have seemed that the warriors were victorious, but they would lose their wars eventually. Insanity and sadness would take them out. The more I look at it, the more I want to look away. Somehow, I am supposed to press my will into this horrid being and make it into an extension of my character. Somehow, I am supposed to slaughter this beast with my all. Somehow, I am supposed to fill the void with only my own consciousness. I fumble my weapon nervously. I’m not sure it can be done. I’m just not sure.
The distractions are endless. Restlessness stirs in the air. “Justin Beiber” and “salivation”, meaningless words thrown into the air bounce off my head and float into the cosmos but some are trapped by the gravity of my head and orbit around me. They bump into my head as they orbit around it, nagging me, inviting me. There are so many words and all of them are meaningless yet they are spewed so enthusiastically. Chess battles rage in the distance. Matthew Hersman quacks like a duck. They are all mocking me. It’s extremely clear now that this is a fight that I will be fighting alone. The distractions pull me toward the others, so I can immerse myself in their meaninglessness. I refuse to listen to the tugging distractions however, no matter how obnoxiously Matthew Hersman quacks. I pity the others. Soon, they will face the same fight as me. This thought brings a smug smile to my face.
I am a fierce warrior. I have been training how to fight these battles since I was six. Succumbing to distractions is a sign of weakness and lack of skill. I am stronger and better than ever before. I will rip this stillness inside me and fill that abyss with my entirety. I will wrestle that beast with my bear hands and kill it like Samson and Hercules killed those lions. I can do this! I can do this! The task before me is a perilous journey that deserves an epic like the Odyssey. Future generations will see my work and aspire to be just like me. The corpse of my enemy will be put on display as a piece of art. Those big names before me have nothing on me. Never before has so much talent and humbleness collided into a single being. All the uncertainty and anxiety from before has evaporated by the fiery heat of my intensity. I am Lucia Lee- no, Lucia Cristina Lee, Child of Destiny, Master of Fate.
So what is at stake here? Since future generations will tell stories about me, my reputation will be on the line here. I suppose my future itself will be altered by this task, considering how famous I will be as soon as I finish my magnificent work. The wondrous work of my hands will inspire the world to bring about world peace. Piece of cake.
All this preparation is tiring me out. Maybe I should, uh, give it some time. I mean, I should eat and take nap before changing the world. It only makes sense. No, no. I need to focus here. I have the concentration of a ninja. Hey, I like pandas. They’re the least intimidating of all the bears. Wait, no! Concentrate.
I breathe in and breathe out and gather my thoughts. This is it. I, Lucia Cristina Lee, Child of Destiny, Master of Fate, will overcome. It’s time to change the world. I grab my pen-sword and raise it above my head. With a battle cry worthy of a Spartan, I plunge into my essay.
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