A Paper on the Ground

At first, I thought that someone had tried and failed to make a 3-point shot into the bin next to my bedroom desk. The crumpled ball of paper sat on the floor, almost sadly, as if it were waiting to be picked up and unfolded again. I carefully opened it up and squinted as I tried to decipher the haphazard scribbles and symbols, scrawled in jagged lines and alternating between pencil, pen, and what I believe was a purple crayon. I wasn't sure what to make of it. For a moment I thought that it might be the random ramblings of some madman, but that would imply that said madman had been in my house at some point, which was an unpleasant thought. And so I wondered and wandered through my room, looking for more clues as to the mysterious paper's origins. Was it thrown through my window? I never open the window, so no. Perhaps it was something I'd made as a child and stuffed away into my desk drawer, finally free after all these years. Possible, but the handwriting, while a complete mess, was somehow still neater than my childhood chicken scratch. Maybe I wrote it under heavy alcoholic influence? That would be hard to explain, seeing as how I've never touched the stuff before. I was beginning to feel quite concerned when I suddenly noticed three letters and three numbers that stood out at the top of the page, forming a familiar course code.

All that to say, Bob, I believe you left your creative writing piece at my house after your meltdown during our homework session last night. You were very concerned that it was no good; that it would ruin your grade and possibly your reputation in the class. I can't refute any of your concerns - not in good faith, at least - but I am wondering if you would like it back. I'm sure that there is something salvageable there. At the very least, I think I found the place where you wrote your name, and assuming it was your name, it was spelled almost perfectly. I would suggest, though, that you start your editing by removing the comic strip you drew in crayon over the text. If you don't want it back, though, I'd be happy to burn it for you. Wouldn't be a horrible idea either. If you get this message, please call me back. Thanks. Goodbye.

Copyright © Chris Bosman.