Short Stories

turn in your fucking exam paper

I keep forgetting to. You know?
It's there in the back of my head, "turn it in, you've written it."

"You've put so much effort into it already."

Except I don't. And I didn't. Not actually, I didn't write anything down that hadn't already been written before, I don't have anything new to say- probably just louder.

Right? And even then, the volume is really only read at a whisper. It's a good paper, a good thesis, good statement. I've always excelled at english.

But I doubt it so thoroughly, because what if it's wrong? What if I'm wrong?
What if everything I have to say, really truly, doesn't matter because I still haven't turned it in, and nobody is ever going to see it?

I want them to see it though, and I want them to read it, grade it, enjoy it. Enjoy me.
I want them to take this exam paper, hold it up to the light so they can see the mirror of words reflected through the yellow sun. And read them completely and truly.
Understand them.

However, I know. I know that this won't be the case. What I have to say, who I have become is so viscerally opposed to those I want to read this stupid fucking exam paper.
They can say, "oh, I get it- I understand this."

And never once, will they comprehend it. They will ask about it, wonder if its merely anecdotal, merely a fictional story and not an in depth analysis of the self- of me. Then, they will question me.
My life, how and what I see, if its real- important. If anything I say matters at all.

And then lastly, they will burn it. So utterly that the ashes aren't even left behind. I could try and save it, try and protect it. Try and shield ot from pokes, and tears, penmarks and cigarette holes.

Won't change anything though.

I really ought to turn it in.

At some point.

The nagging of it, is physically painful. Like some terrible sheet under my skin that holds the last part of me away from it. No horrific end to it. Just paper cuts under my skin, peeling bits of me up telling me, "if you don't turn it in, it will only get worse."

Of course, it's right. I have been neglecting this stupid late paper since high school, and it shouldn't matter that I haven't turned it in- but it does. And it has only gotten worse.

Eventually, at some point, I'm going to turn it in. Lay all the thoughts I've been keeping tied up in an old binder out bare for everyone and everything to see.
It'll be cathartic, I imagine.

To finally gift that last, very precious, very hidden part of me away. I'd be remissed to think on how stupid and silly of me it was to hoard that stupid fucking exam paper, thinking it would stop existing if I just kept it close.

Being close to it hurts though, reading it hurts. Keeping it locked away hurts so much...but it doesn't hurt as much as it would when- if, they read it and they hate it.

It's just a fucking paper though. It's not supposed to make you so horrifically uncomfortable. It's not meant to dig under your skin and make you so awful and naked. It's just some stupid analysis, some nonsense thesis, some dumb thing that I spent so long working on, crying over, figuring out just the right words to use, just the right things to say.

Why do I care so much about a stupid fucking exam paper? It's not a test! Not anymore! I've done with that part of my life, I've finished examining every last thing, pouring over every single detail.

I've come to the conclusion, retread over the thesis, made my arguments and rebutted them with evidence- proof. I have the answer.

Why am I so afraid to say it then?

Because I know I'm not wrong. I know, I know the irrefutable answers, the knowledge, the truth of it. Is it some stupid notion I have? Some fear of what other people have to say about me? What they might do to me? If they read my paper?

Why does it fucking matter? It's not theirs. It's mine. I wrote it.

I think...even though it's late, and I'll probably get a failing grade.

I'm gonna turn in my fucking exam paper.

You should probably too.

Author's note:
Hi! Hello! This is a really dumb, sort of angry nonstory that I overheard in a dream. Narrated by me, and it's about (for me specifically) dysphoria and coming out as trans- masc.

Idk why, but recently all of that part of me has become increasingly unbearable and there is probably more than one reason why. But its come to some kind of head with the past couple of weeks, where I just start questioning everything- wanting to say something and do something. Make it clear to people I care about. Fix it..or take steps to.. But I haven't because I'm dumb, and scared and stupid.

The exam paper is that thing- that we all have, every single person has a paper they have written, that has so many very important things in it, that they really want to share but cant because of so many different reasons. This is mine. I guess..?

So yeah, uh. Turn in your fucking papers. Or you'll regret it in the future. Probably..idk, you might regret it right now. Hope you liked my stupid story.