Out of Reach

By Lowefantasy

1

"I can't say that when I write a story, what I want comes out. No. Something nameless comes along and tells the story to me, and if I am quick and loyal enough, it will bring me along for the ride."

Two in the morning was the witching hour for writing essays.

A can of Monster energy drink stood inches from my hand, dry and tall, though still oozing with a chemical sweet smell. My left eye had started twitching about an hour ago and still went strong. My stomach was definitely asleep. My brain felt like blood sausage, and my back was essentially a plank of knots.

I loathe you, Shakespear, I thought as I typed in one more inane sentence about the feminist arcs of "As You Like it." I LOATHE you. Loathe you loathe you loathe you-

"Good God, what did I do to deserve this?" I moaned, giving in to the urge to slam my head on the keyboard.

Bad idea. Laptop went on the fritz. Several windows open that I had no clue for, and the well-beloved essay, well….

It got exited out of.

Forgetting that I had a roommate to account for, I tapered off my blood curdling scream with explosive expletives.

"DAMN YOU MICROSOFT WORD, YOU BETTER HAVE AUTOSAVED OR I SWEAR—"

"WHAT THE HELL!"

Said roommate had magically appeared in the doorway to my room, eyes red, dyed hair redder. She looked ready to kill.

"Can't you see that I'm dying here?" I said. "Or at least being zombified?"

"Like I give a damn, I got Algebra at 6am! Freaking, effing, bastard 6am, and you go around screaming? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!"

But I had opened up Microsoft Word and, yes, it had autosaved, even if only a few lines earlier than where I was.

I did many ohms and bows to the computer, while the fake redhead looked on, baffled.

"Well, wake me up again and I'll shave your head while you sleep," she said, turning to retreat back to bed. At least she had tried to sound like she meant it.

But I didn't care. Word had autosaved. Holy Mother of God. Thank you.

I had about one thousand words to go to be finished. The hour dragged on, and even the Monster juices didn't stop my brain from crashing several times, leaving me to stare blankly at the screen. I'd shake myself, slap my cheeks, pinch my tongue, and keep writing.

By the time the blessed ending came my face felt like it had been sunburned and my tongue hated me. But just like with my roommate, I could care less. I was released. Heaven had set me free.

And Monster or not, I was out.

Needless to say, falling asleep near five in the morning does not well rested one make. And while I didn't have to do Math at the unholy hour of 6am, I did have Paraphysiology 2030 at 7am.

And Professor Davis was perhaps the least forgiving of all teachers ever. While of the belief that college students could flunk the classes they paid for if they wanted to, their loss, he was merciless to any signs of weakness. Impressing him ranked up there on the list of World Peace or Russia and America becoming bosom companions.

And the look he was giving me as he stood before me, dressed in his usual severe black, can't-be-legally-handsome and young, withered my soul.

He said nothing. He didn't have to. Even the students sitting next to me cringed back, as though afraid of some of that glare splashing onto them.

"I-I stayed up writing an essay—" I started.

He snorted, and turned back to the pull-down screen, where he had a video clip up of some infrared sensors around a fallen chair.

"As you can see," he said, as though no crucifixion by gaze had occurred, "the chair is slightly warm after being moved. This suggests a transfer of energy occurring that wasn't entirely physical, otherwise the heat would have been focused and dissipated quickly. This gives us evidence enough to assume we now have our third criteria for a poltergeist."

I rolled my chin on my desk to get my head upright and sighed. Once more, Shakespeare had ruined my life. I didn't even know why I had to take English 2010, I was a Paraphysiology major, not an effing English major. And it didn't matter whether you wrote like Hemmingway or Bugs Bunny, Professor Davis would hate your essay anyways and display it to the class to point out all its faults. This would have been considered mental and emotional abuse to some, but since everyone had a turn on the projector of shame, it was a community effort on our part to endure.

As usual, Professor Davis left out the conclusion of this case for us to write up our theories as to how it will end. My brain left my shame and became overcome with dreams of my bed. Ditching Astronomy 1010 was in the forecast.

"Now, I think I got everyone's waiver signed from last week, even from the most procrastinative," I felt his ice gaze on me and peeked up from my fluffy bed dreams. "So we'll start psychic tests on Friday. I'll be going in alphabetical order so if you miss your turn, too bad so sad. As I said before, the top three with the strongest psychic results will come with me on my next case. That's if any of you have any sort of innate power." He snapped something against his hand. A pen? "Which I highly doubt. You're dismissed."

I oozed out of my chair and more or less dragged my backpack out like the kill of a caveman. I barely noticed one of my classmates, a charismatic music major, patting my shoulder as he passed.

"So glad I'm not you," he said. "His glare alone is what keeps me from knocking out homework at three in the morning."

"Five," I said, hardly hearing myself.

"Phew, you don't do well without sleep, huh?"

"Nope," I popped. Why were we talking? I had a bed to get to.

"You need any help getting home?"

"These boots were made for walk'n." Was I even wearing boots? I squinted at him through sleepy eyes. Takigawa was it? One of the many who took Professor Davis's class because it was damn interesting, not because they were actually serious about the supernatural or even believed in ghosts, least of all charmed by the Professor's lovely personality.

Takigawa flinched. "No need to glare at me."

"It's called a squint. The lights, the life," I hissed out a breath. "May it all burn and die."

"Yeaaaaah, you go and get some sleep. Like, now."

I didn't respond to that. Just staggered away in the general direction of outside. There I could zombie walk my way back to my apartment and get drunk on the smell of my own pillow.

And hopefully, forget about the stinging pain of Professor Davis's disappointment once again.

I really was a masochist.