The Short Story That Almost Never Was

;3

It was 11:00 at night and I still didn't have any ideas. My Language Arts short story was due in less than twenty four hours and I hadn't even started it yet. I was getting desperate, but it was almost midnight. Maybe I should just not do it and make up an excuse for tomorrow, I’ll never get this done! I thought. I just... couldn't keep my eyes open…

I could see myself collapsed on the computer keyboard as everything went foggy.

I found myself in an immeasurably long hallway filled with different multi-colored doors. It smelled oddly metallic. Where am I? Suddenly a loud voice could be heard. “Sophie, you are inside your brain. I have summoned you here to search your head for ideas for your short story.” It said creepily. The voice sounded vaguely like mine.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I am your conscience. These doors lead to memories in your brain. You are stuck here until you come up with a perfect plan for your story.” the voice echoed off the walls of the narrow hallway.

“Well, OK. Thanks for the help. I guess I’ll just open some of these doors and look for ideas.”

I approached a radiant orange door with a brass doorknob. I could tell there was something loud in there as I got closer. The door squeaked slightly as I opened it. Even just cracked, I could hear loud dance music being blasted. I peeked inside and saw a colossal hippo with a spotted birthday hat shimmying to the melody. It was wearing ruby slippers reminiscent of the ones from The Wizard of Oz. It smelled like birthday cake icing. I swiftly shut the door. Where did I get that memory from? I thought, a little freaked out. Lets just move on to the next door…

Looking for something a little less weird, I selected a bland gray door with small, dainty patterns on it. My family was sitting quietly at the table eating our Thanksgiving dinner. We all were reticent as we munched on my grandma’s delicious home cooked meal. But who would want to hear a story about how tangy the cranberry sauce was? No ideas here, I thought and moved on.

I progressed down the hallway, a little discouraged from not finding a story idea yet. A pale yellow door with a pretty gold handle came into view. When I opened the door I saw a scene related to what you would see in Tom and Jerry. My dog, Dewey, who was mysteriously hovering about three feet off the ground, was pursuing a floating chipmunk in circles. The room smelled like wet dog, which was not surprising. Dewey’s puffy reddish double coat shifted as he ran. He took no notice of me standing in the doorway so I called, “Dewey?”

“Can’t you tell I’m busy here?!” He said as the chipmunk took advantage of his distraction and the open door and ran out of the room. My mouth fell agape. “Oh great. It got away” he said while I was still in shock from the fact that he could talk. Dewey looked at me expectantly.

“Well,... Do you have any ideas for a short story?” I asked.

“I do know this one place that might have something story-like” he barked as he floated past me (I gagged from the overwhelming stench) and out the door. “Follow me.”

We continued down the hallway for awhile until we came upon a large black door with gothic patterns carved into it at the end of the seemingly infinite hallway. Dewey nodded at me and I opened the door. Inside there was an empty room with very high ceilings. We stepped inside. It smelled musty and just being in there made me scared. Just as we got out of the way of the door, it closed with a slam that startled both of us. I could hear a lock in the door click. Thick mist was forming in the center of the room and materialized into a giant Ms. Crowley! She had a stern look in her eyes when she stared at me and boomed, “YOU HAVEN'T EVEN STARTED YOUR STORY YET!” She laughed maniacally. “YOU HAVE NO TIME LEFT! YOU’LL NEVER COMPLETE YOUR ASSIGNMENT!” And then she pulled out a giant red pen from her pocket and yelled “YOU’LL FAIL LANGUAGE ARTS!” Ms. Crowley pointed the nib and grinned with an villainous twinkle in her eye. I could hear the weapon charge up before it released a deafening sonic boom sound along with a laser beam aimed at me. I dodged at the last moment. The air smelled like smoke. When I looked back to where the laser has landed, on the floor of the room, it had left a large ‘F’, circled, like what you’d see at the top of your paper when you did really badly on a test. She shot another one, but not at me. It hit poor floating Dewey, and I could hear him whine as he was knocked out of the air. He landed with a deafening thud on the hard concrete ground. He winced as he turned to me and said weakly, “You can think of an idea for your short story! Its the only way to get out of your brain!” While I was running away from Ms. Crowley’s deadly pen, I had the perfect idea for my story! What has this whole journey been about?

My idea, was the lack of an idea.

Everything reduced into slow motion. As giant Ms. Crowley disappeared into thin air, I could see her smile proudly. I knew what I was going to write about. Fog started to engulf me and an instant later I found myself out of my brain and back at my computer.

With renewed energy, I formed my new idea into a story. The words flowed like water, and I had the whole draft finished before I got the slightest hint of tiredness. I finished with naming my story: The Short Story That Almost Never Was.

THE END