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Creased to the standards of your creator, you are the mighty Paper Airplane.
You have one job.
To get from Point A to Point B unharmed.
There are a [[few things to go over]] before your initial flight...What are you made of? This is a critical decision. Consider the sturdiness, durability, and weight of each material:
The flexible and airy [[loose leaf from a 9th grader's Biology binder.]]
An [[unfilled Planned Parenthood health form]] printed on the reliable 8.5"x11" white sheet.
The large yellow majestic piece of of epistolary artistry known as the [[Manila envelope.]]A freshman boy, probably around 14 or 15 years old, drums his fingers on the silver ring in the middle of his binder. Six minutes into the class period and his teacher has already delved into the dreadfully monotonous lesson on glycoproteins and their identification properties. He didn't even have his phone on him or he'd be sifting through Snapchat stories.
To alleviate his persisting boredom, he flips
[[through some old notes from a previous section]]
when he finds a crumpled sheet covered with renditions of [[an old, crude cartoon of a cross-eyed cat]].
"To show, or not to show," a fourth grade boy recited dramatically in his head, wondering why Shakespeare decided to write a story about a conflicted pig... Perhaps whatever this 'Hamlit' guy was going through was some tough crap, but nothing compared to this grammar school catastrophe.
A stack of manila envelopes sat neatly on his teacher's desk, each of which held a sheet of paper that could make or break every student: the Report Card.
The students were to bring their report card home and have it looked over and signed by their parent or guardian before the end of the week. Many of them took pride in their marks and ran to their folks, shoving uncapped pens into their hands before the envelope was even opened.
This student in particular was [[not so lucky]].A 24 year old woman shifts uncomfortably in the waiting room chair. Every sniff, cough, and "mhm," from a phone call was amplified and bounced off her eardrums. While absentmindedly glossing over the preliminary health forms on her clipboard, she notices that the receptionist accidentally gave her a second copy.
She looks at the head of her partner who's sitting a few rows ahead of her. 'Cares enough to join me but not enough to sit with me...' she thought.
She considers sending a text but selects a more [[juvenile approach]]; the pettiness would be more palpable then.Notes from two weeks ago brief anyone who cared about the basic functions of the phospholipid bilayer and its components.
Who even cares? It's probably important because, y'know, life and stuff.... but what average 14 year old has the emotional and mental capacity to be concerned with this?
Oh well, it'll serve as the [[perfect distraction...]]<u> Science: C
<i>Comments: evidently bright but not very attentive</i>
<i>Comments: smart boy but doesn't apply himself</i>
Language Arts: D
<i>Comments:fails to turn in assignments or homework, frequently disrupts class</i>
Social Studies: C
<i>Comments: chatty, does not pay attention, missing homework </i>
<i> Comments: believes that adding -o/-a to English words makes it Spanish </i>
Physical Education: B
<i>Comments: good class participation </i>
<i>Comments: missing assignments but enjoys material</i>
How could the school actually expect him to bring this home? He laughs to himself and tucks his results in his bag. Anyways, it's not like this stuff even matters... He'd deal with the consequences [[later]].The school day has ended and children pour out of the building to climb into their yellow buses and go home. On the other hand, the fourth grade boy fastens his helmet and hops on his bike. He pedals into the side streets and ponders taking the long way [[home]]. She tears the duplicate form out from beneath the clipboard's grip and flips it over to the blank side. She begins to write
[[nothing]], and decides to keep the paper for something else.
[["If you fucking gave it to me, I swear I'll kill you"]] and an array of frowny faces.
She scrapes the ball-point of the pen into the paper, digging in each letter with the fury of a woman wronged.
She wants to crumple it up and throw it at their head, but she is afraid of missing and opts for the [[paper airplane]] instead. The point would hopefully stab the shoulder anyways.Cycling through the roads of his suburban neighbourhood, he winds his way through a small wooded park with a small stream. Above the creek is a small log bridge made to cross the tiny creek. He parks his bike beside the entrance to the bridge and pulls his bookbag down from his back.
He had already scribbled out the results on his report card, but he still had to get rid of the [[evidence]].'But I don't have a phone,' he remembers.
Like a $0.59 40W lightbulb, an idea was screwed into his head and illuminated his thoughts. He'll just write her a note elementary school style.
The paper he had pulled out earlier was a messy thing but it'd do the trick. It was rumpled and smudged and covered with doodles but he could just cross those out, right?
He starts writing on the [[sheet]]...
[[Hey i cant text you because my mom took my phone away. do you want to come over tomorrow? she wont be home this time :)|the thing]]
[[You free tomorrow? write me back, i dont have a phone|the thing]]
[[hey whats up? |the thing]]He proofreads his note and concludes that there's nothing wrong with it. The method of transportation remains as the only obstacle now. This pretty girl is a bit too far away to just have the note handed to her like a regular old exchange; and could he really trust the people beside him to pass the note along without snitching or complaining about him being a distraction?
There's only one way to quickly and effectively send [[this message]].<b>3 days later</b>
No complications and no call from the second party.
Only a scheduled appointment with a grief counselor.
And one piece of advice:
[["A letter to my unborn baby,"]]And with the final fold of your creator, you are born. The spectacular, versatile, and exquisitely designed paper airplane.
Let your journey [[be the adventure you're seeking]].And with the final fold of your creator, you are born. The spectacular, versatile, and exquisitely designed paper airplane.
Let your journey [[take you away]].And with the final fold of your creator, you are born. The spectacular, versatile, and exquisitely designed paper airplane.
Let your journey [[begin]].And with the final fold of your creator, you are born. The spectacular, versatile, and exquisitely designed paper airplane.
Let your journey [[lead you away]].And with the final fold of your creator, you are born. The spectacular, versatile, and exquisitely designed paper airplane.
Let your journey [[commence]].The boy throws you into the air while the teacher's back is turned towards the board and you feel your wings slice through the air.
Such- [[Oh shit!]]Alright.... "Unborn baby", get ready! Here you come!
This is some high class air mail coming through. People better watch out, because you're unstoppable.
Your creator has you stored in that alligator purse right now. On the bus, you're en route to your starting point. You have to calm your nerves; you don't <i>really</i> know where to find this unborn baby thing... But it can't be that hard, right?
The purse is unzipped and your creator peers in, jostling you around to get your purse-companion, the iPhone. Oh well, your time will [[come]].Five feet into the air and your point strikes someone's earlobe... Jackpot.
You're snatched up by the offended recipient and nearly ripped open.
Hey! Be gentle! You're paper!
"If... you fucking gave it... to me.. I'll kill you?" the recipient whispers with a puzzled look on his face before crumpling you up and glancing at your creator.
Your paper-plane life was short-lived... but you made it!
Aaaaaaaaaaand, now you're shoved in a [[jean pocket]]. You're off to a rocky start at the fault of your creator. You weren't thrown, but dropped. You're gliding merely a few inches above the water but thankfully, you pick up the speed and altitude you need to make a worthwhile journey.
There's no intended recipient on your agenda, unfortunately.
But the sky is blue, the water is clean, and you're gliding through the air like nothing's on your mind.
Just the way it [[should be]]."Alright... eye on the prize! Eye. On. The. Prize." you coach yourself as your creator prepares you for your first flight.
Target: Pretty girl
Distance to travel: About 11 feet, give or take a few inches.
Questions and concerns: None at the moment. You're on your A-game today... You just know it.
The path is clear, no evident obstacles. No draft. There are a few unnecessary wrinkles in your wings but you shrug it off; it just adds to the challenge!
And just like that, it's go time.
You glide through the air, reaching the halfway point faster than expected when things begin to go [[awry]].
Right out of the door! Hell yeah!
It was only opened half-way and you weren't even sent in that general direction.
You didn't relaly have a target either, but this is a pretty big achievement! You can travel the whole world!
You are [[unstoppable]]!Your wings flutter and somehow, your nose points upwards.
And suddenly, you're wedged in the ceiling.
Well, that happened. Double-click this passage to edit it.Your creator's hand grabs you out of the purse and you're disoriented.
Hell, you weren't ready. Perceiving your surroundings, you register that you're indeed in the middle of a large pedestrian bridge.
And into the windy, misty air you [[go]]!You finally acclimate to the dark cramped and warm confines of the stupid old jean pocket when you're accosted by a harsh light.
Suddenly, your crumpled self was planted on the dirty floor of a public bus.
Bye bye, recipient...
This is your new life now. A piece of garbage on a bus. Oh how the tables [[turn]]. Double-click this passage to edit it.He opens the rings of his binder and slips the sheet out. He catches the eye of the pretty girl, Melissa, a few rows off. She raises her eyebrows and smiles at him.
'Oh, fuck... she sees me. Quick. Do something?' he curses at himself.
Trying to muster up a smile, he ends up resembling an angered dog bearing his teeth. She laughs- or at least exhales sharply through her nose.
'I should text her [[soon]],' he thought...Considering the idea of writing a scathing note, she begins to scrape the pen against the sheet until something got the better of her. She shoves the pen and form back into her faux alligator skin purse and leans back until a nurse comes to collect her.
Her partner stands up to join her in the examination room but she shakes her head 'No' and ducks behind the open door leading away from the [[waiting room]].Abandoned and alone, you ride out your next few hours trying to appeal to a potentially curious soul.
[[A little girl and her mother sit across from you]], discussing the wonders of kindergarten.
[[An old man with a cane shuffles his newspaper and sniffles every so often.]]Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.Over the river and between sail boats, you swing around and dodge your enormous obstacles. Some people point at you.
It's like a video game.
You never knew this could happen to [[you]]. Double-click this passage to edit it.