Other Direction

Other Direction

My hands are slipping. My muscles are working hard. I should go to the gym more often. How is this giving me a hard time? I’m beginning to sweat. I’m getting anxious. I’m running out of time! I’ll be late to school and I need to have this complete in the next minute. If I’m late again my teacher will kill me. She will fail me. The clock struck 8a.m. I can do this. I just need to get the right angle. I don’t know what is going on with me. This has never happened before. It’s so absurd.

It’s been five minutes now. It seemed like an hour. I feel like I’m dripping in sweat. Should I turn the AC on? No way. I’ll finish this in a second. What is going on? Am I dreaming? There is no way I can’t do this. I’m getting furious. This doesn’t make any sense!

I’m still struggling. I can’t leave the house without this. God I’m starving. “Twist! Twist!” I’m yelling out of frustration, personifying this object. My little sister Lyla is looking at me as if I’m some dummy.

“This is not as easy as it looks! Something is jammed here. It’s not my fault.” I said, anxiously.

“Sure it isn’t!” said Lyla, with an obnoxious smirk on her face.

“You think this is easy? Try it yourself.” Ah, as if I have time for this. “I will eat a hat if you can do it and I can’t. It’s not possible.”

She walks up to the kitchen, puts her hand on the lid, twists it in the opposite direction, and walks away. She looked at me as if I was a foolish little kid, but I don’t care. It opened! Thank god. I prepared my peanut butter sandwich in seconds and sprinted out the door.

“Don’t forget the hat!” said Lyla, grinning.