I took a look at my class for Rosalind Franklin University of Medicine and Science, and I was kind of disarmed by how old they all looked. I had about a ten minute panic attack wondering where my life had gone. And then I realized that I would probably be the youngest person in the class, what with me still being twenty-one and deciding not to take a gap year or any breaks before diving into medical school.
Anyway, solitary confinement, yes. And that feeling is being magnified by the sound of fireworks occurring Northeast of me. Silly Winnetka. I imagine the hundreds of people pushed together to fit on the main field are having fun and being somewhat social. But they are also getting attacked by mosquitoes, so who's the real winner here?
The answer is mosquitoes.
Anyway, to cope with this horrific boredom, I have been researching and starting to write a novel which I think, and which a few other people think, has great promise. This is the last paragraph of the first chapter, tentatively titled: A call to Actinopterygii.
The hardwood floor of my room creaks as I stand up from my bed to turn off the light. The window shade makes a whirring noise as I pull a cord that shuts the blinds behind Lucy’s tank. The fluorescent bulb flickers off, sounding like softly breaking glass as the room gets dark. The fish Lucy sounds like she’s saying goodnight to me as the air pump in the corner of her tank keeps pushing bubbles through the white gravel. Odd. I expected her to have an Eastern European accent.
Yea. Tomorrow’s going to be a weird day.
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