The World's Ignorance

The Truth

I sat at my desk, staring absently at the blank document on my computer screen before me, half listening to the teacher as she droned on and on about our lesson for the day.
    "During the 1780s, the Warren family lived peacefully in their estate by the Eastern coastline..."
    I didn't need to listen to every word she spoke to understand what she was talking about. I knew the entire story like the back of my hand. After all, I lived through it.
    "For a while, their lives were fairly uneventful. That was, until 1785, when tragedy struck..."
    I tried to convince my fingers to type something, anything, on the keyboard so I could at least look like I was dutifully taking notes like the rest of my class. But it seemed my fingers didn't want to listen to me.
    "Their son, Aspen Warren, decided to wander into the nearby woods late in the evening on December 18th, 1785. He'd always been relatively weak and frail compared to the rest of his family, but he was also extremely curious about the world around him..."
    I'd just wanted to attend my history class and graduate from high school so my life could play out normally after everything I'd been through. But no; I just had to be stuck listening to the teacher ramble on and on about my trauma, blatantly unaware about the sheer amount of distress it caused me. This lesson wasn't even in the class's curriculum, for God's sake, so why was I even being forced to sit through this lecture?
    "At first, his parents assumed he was merely out exploring. But when he didn't return home during the next few hours, his parents went searching to find him, but to no avail. Many of their loved ones and town officials also went searching, but everyone came back empty-handed. Eventually the Warren family gave up on the search, and Aspen Warren was presumed dead a few weeks later..."
    I remembered that evening, clear as day. I remembered running through the woods, leaving my family's home far behind. I remembered the chill of the air as the sky quickly darkened above me. I remembered finding myself completely lost amidst the darkness of the woods. I remembered encountering that demon, who offered to make a deal with me...
    "Many historians since have speculated what happened to Aspen Warren. Some say he died in the wilderness due to starvation, thirst, or hypothermia. Some theorize that he ran off to another town and took up a false identity before eventually dying of old age. And some claim this whole tale was fabricated to cover up the fact he passed due to sickness."
    I wanted to rip my hair out upon hearing those words. I wasn't dead; I was sitting right here, right before her, yet still I had to listen to her going on and on about how I was dead.
    She didn't know anything that happened that night. She didn't know I made a deal with a demon out of desperation to find my way home; she didn't know that I'd been placed under a curse for the next 230 years, unable to do anything except wander like a zombie from place to place, completely under that demon's control. She didn't know that I'd awoken only a few months ago to find myself in a completely unfamiliar world. She didn't know that me and the Aspen Warren she was speaking of were one and the same. No one in the world knew the truth about what happened that night. Only I knew the truth.
    "For your assignment today, I'd like you to come up with a theory of what you believe happened to Aspen Warren. You can come up with any scenario you'd like so long as it's backed up by compelling evidence."
    Immediately, the entire class began typing away, writing some sort of bullshit about me getting killed or starving or getting sick.
    But not me. I just continued to stare at my blank document, fists clenched tight, seething with rage. How couldn't I be angry? All these "facts" the teacher had been spewing out for the past couple of minutes were completely false!
    I could've just abided by her whims and just written something about how I'd died in the woods that night. But I couldn't bring myself to. I didn't want to spread that lie any longer. If I had to write about what had happened to me the evening of December 18th, 1785, then I was going to tell the truth, no matter how much history disagreed with me.
    And so, outstretching my fingers over my keyboard, I began to write.
    As soon as I started typing, it almost felt like I'd been possessed by that demon all over again. It felt as though she'd taken control of my hands and was controlling them like a puppeteer. I just kept typing and typing, spewing out every last detail about that night that my mind could offer. Every word on that page was my real, lived experience. Raw and unedited truth. of truth, from the moment I fled the house to when I awoke by a dimly lit roadside, stranded all alone in a completely unfamiliar place.
    I just kept writing and writing, until finally, the bell rang, and I was released from the possession of my writing.
    Immediately, I scrambled to pack up my stuff and head out the door.
    But before I could escape this hell of a classroom, the teacher stopped me.
    "Aspen, wait for just a minute. I'd like to talk to you."
    Immediately, I had the feeling I knew what this was going to be about.
    "Oh, okay," I said, trying my best to keep my voice from breaking out into a cry or into an angered scream. Instead, I walked to the side of her desk and calmly asked, "What is it?"
    "It's about your assignment today," the teacher said, adjusting her glasses as she peered at her computer screen.
    Oh God, I knew exactly what this was going to be about.
    "I just couldn't help but notice that you were going off on complete nonsense about Aspen Warren having been cursed by a demon and then ending up in the modern world," the teacher explained, her stern blue eyes meeting my own, "And while I appreciate your creativity, Aspen, this isn't what the assignment called for. You were supposed to write about a realistic scenario backed up by real evidence."
    This teacher honestly infuriated me. I understood that she meant well, but she was completely oblivious to the fact that everything I'd written was all completely true. That everything I'd written were real events that happened to me.
    But I held back my anger and did everything in my power to keep my cool. "I'm sorry, miss."
    "It's alright," said the teacher reassuringly, "Normally, I would fail students who tried doing things like this on assignments, but I'll make an exception for you since you're typically a good student. I'll give you a higher grade if you rewrite your assignment."
    I honestly considered it for a moment. I really didn't want to start any drama over the material we were learning in this class.
    But at the same time, this was my life we were talking about. I didn't want to spew anymore lies about my life than I had already over the course of these past few months. Just the idea of sitting down and writing blatantly false shit about myself made me feel sick. I couldn't do it.
    "No," I said finally.
    "What do you mean 'no'?" the teacher questioned suspiciously, "Don't you want a chance to make up this assignment."
    "I can't," I told her, anxiously tugging on a strand of my deep brown hair, "I'm sorry, miss."
    "But you don't have to work on it on your own," the teacher continued, clearly starting to get frustrated with me, "I can give you extra time during class to complete the assignment."
    But having to do the assignment on my own time wasn't the issue. It was far from that.
    "I'm sorry, but I can't," I repeated, trying to move away from her desk.
But the teacher began to let her frustration get the better of you. "But you'll fail this assignment if you don't agree to make it up! You're such a good student, and I'd hate to see this one assignment taking your grade down."
"I can't," I repeated for about the millionth time, starting to really get pissed off about this whole conversation, "I did the assignment, exactly as you asked." God, I wished I'd been faster at getting out the door. I peered longingly out the door at the students rushing through the hallways to their next class. If only I could have joined them...
"But you have to follow the rules for my assignments," the teacher went on in a fury, "You can't just expect to pass by writing blatant lies!"
    Those words ticked me off. I hadn't written lies! I'd written exactly what had happened to me! Every single word I'd written was completely true!
    Immediately I whirled on her. Everything I'd done within the past few minutes to keep myself calm shattered as I furiously screamed at her, "But it's all true!"
The teacher just sat there, shock piercing its way through those annoying blue eyes of hers for a moment.
But then she let out a frustrated sigh. "You're delusional if you think any of what you wrote is actually true, Aspen."
She then slammed her laptop shut as she muttered, "If you really want to fail this assignment so badly, then just go. I don't want to help students who don't want to help themselves."
Thank God, I thought as I finally fled the classroom and wandered out into the halls. That teacher was sure as hell annoying. But at least I was out of there.
    By now, the flow of students wandering through the hallways had shrunk down to a trickle, which I honestly didn't mind too much. It was far easier to walk to class when cliques of students weren't walking slowly and blocking the entire hallway.
    But as I walked, my mind wouldn't stop lingering on my assignment. I thought of each and every word I'd written. Each and every word brimmed with honesty, and yet everyone around me was willing to call it nothing but lies simply because history insisted that it was all untrue.
    Yes, I understood why my words were seen as lies. After all, the night I'd run off from home was well over 200 years ago. By all means, I should've been dead.
    But I wasn't dead. I was still alive. I was a living relic of that time, and I knew things that historians in the modern world could never guess.
This history was my life. Everything I wrote was true. And the world deserved to know my truth.
    I didn't care if no one would believe me. I didn't care if history said otherwise. Because this was my story, and I was going to share it with the world.