I wrote this in an hour even though I had 30 days to write it. This is for my english class

What  is a short story?What am i meant to be doingIt's November, I've procrastinated and now I'm a day overdue.I get stressed and stressed.But in reality this is all my fault.Is this reality?How do I know if this is real? My friends say I should think about this, I'm not mentally stable.When am I ever?So I write and I write.I re-read it. I hate it.“FUCK”I'll yell out as I realize nothing is good. Nothing is good enough.Nothing I think or do or write is okay.It all sucks.I suck.I delete and restart.I'm sitting in my bed, my fingers, they slave away.It's the same cycle, I reread and see how trash I am at writing.Is this even worth my grade?What if it brings it down, what if the teacher judges me.What am I to do?The teen lays out and classes their laptop.The thought of stories going through their mind all ending at the same and only conclusion.“Nothing I do is good. Nothing I will ever do in my life is good enough.”words only echo in their room as they speak in a low mumble to themselves.The next day they'll sit in class, their hands clasped on the strands of their hands. They pull and squeeze until their eyes tear“I'm useless” they say in thought “i can't do shit right. I'm stressed. No, maybe I'm just lazy. Do i call this lazyness”they’ll get lost in though until the bell rings snapping them out of whatever trance of thought they was in“Fuck all my shit is scattered” they'll mumble to themselves as they rush to put their stuff awayAfterschool is no better. They sit again. Staring. Staring at their computer screen.“nothing…”  despite their mind racing with any and everything they have no idea, no story… no will“Im stressed, but yet again it is my own fault. I'll do it later. But will I really? I'll just ruin it. I always ruin it, i ruin everything’My heart is pounding and my breathing heaves “Everything i ruin everything im just such a big fuck up”My hands pull at my hair then wipe the tears from my eyes.What am I to do?Does any of this matter, is life real. Am I real? What if I'm not? What if-“Mom…”I call out, my voice no more than a squeaky pop.“Oh what’s the use… she doesn't like me. She hates me. Why am I calling out for someone who doesn't even want me around.”they'll call out, they'll sob. It's natural to want comfort from the one who raised you, who you think, who you are TOLD is meant to love you.I look back over at my laptop screen.Is it worth it.Should i try.I sigh as i adjust my laptop.Ill brainstorm and write what comes to mind..Ill write and wont revise. i ll just go with it. It cant get no worse. Ill get it. Ill write. My keys click and clack as i type.That night, they'll stress and dump whatever though comes to mind. Tears will stream and run as they fight the urges to stop and give up, stop and deleted their progress. “What is a story” ;its how they start. How they'll end. They try their best. Fingers clicking, clacking, hovering.At the end of the night, the end of the story, my fingers they hover. Do i actually want to submit this… It sucks.Its about a teen, much like myself…Maybe they are me?Will the teacher even understand my style, the way i write… Understand this is a story,not reality?

What  is a short story?What am i meant to be doingIt's November, I've procrastinated and now I'm a day overdue.I get stressed and stressed.But in reality this is all my fault.Is this reality?How do I know if this is real? My friends say I should think about this, I'm not mentally stable.When am I ever?So I write and I write.I re-read it. I hate it.“FUCK”I'll yell out as I realize nothing is good. Nothing is good enough.Nothing I think or do or write is okay.It all sucks.I suck.I delete and restart.I'm sitting in my bed, my fingers, they slave away.It's the same cycle, I reread and see how trash I am at writing.Is this even worth my grade?What if it brings it down, what if the teacher judges me.What am I to do?The teen lays out and classes their laptop.The thought of stories going through their mind all ending at the same and only conclusion.“Nothing I do is good. Nothing I will ever do in my life is good enough.”words only echo in their room as they speak in a low mumble to themselves.The next day they'll sit in class, their hands clasped on the strands of their hands. They pull and squeeze until their eyes tear“I'm useless” they say in thought “i can't do shit right. I'm stressed. No, maybe I'm just lazy. Do i call this lazyness”they’ll get lost in though until the bell rings snapping them out of whatever trance of thought they was in“Fuck all my shit is scattered” they'll mumble to themselves as they rush to put their stuff awayAfterschool is no better. They sit again. Staring. Staring at their computer screen.“nothing…”  despite their mind racing with any and everything they have no idea, no story… no will“Im stressed, but yet again it is my own fault. I'll do it later. But will I really? I'll just ruin it. I always ruin it, i ruin everything’My heart is pounding and my breathing heaves “Everything i ruin everything im just such a big fuck up”My hands pull at my hair then wipe the tears from my eyes.What am I to do?Does any of this matter, is life real. Am I real? What if I'm not? What if-“Mom…”I call out, my voice no more than a squeaky pop.“Oh what’s the use… she doesn't like me. She hates me. Why am I calling out for someone who doesn't even want me around.”they'll call out, they'll sob. It's natural to want comfort from the one who raised you, who you think, who you are TOLD is meant to love you.I look back over at my laptop screen.Is it worth it.Should i try.I sigh as i adjust my laptop.Ill brainstorm and write what comes to mind..Ill write and wont revise. i ll just go with it. It cant get no worse. Ill get it. Ill write. My keys click and clack as i type.That night, they'll stress and dump whatever though comes to mind. Tears will stream and run as they fight the urges to stop and give up, stop and deleted their progress. “What is a story” ;its how they start. How they'll end. They try their best. Fingers clicking, clacking, hovering.At the end of the night, the end of the story, my fingers they hover. Do i actually want to submit this… It sucks.Its about a teen, much like myself…Maybe they are me?Will the teacher even understand my style, the way i write… Understand this is a story,not reality?

What  is a short story?What am i meant to be doingIt's November, I've procrastinated and now I'm a day overdue.I get stressed and stressed.But in reality this is all my fault.Is this reality?How do I know if this is real? My friends say I should think about this, I'm not mentally stable.When am I ever?So I write and I write.I re-read it. I hate it.“FUCK”I'll yell out as I realize nothing is good. Nothing is good enough.Nothing I think or do or write is okay.It all sucks.I suck.I delete and restart.I'm sitting in my bed, my fingers, they slave away.It's the same cycle, I reread and see how trash I am at writing.Is this even worth my grade?What if it brings it down, what if the teacher judges me.What am I to do?The teen lays out and classes their laptop.The thought of stories going through their mind all ending at the same and only conclusion.“Nothing I do is good. Nothing I will ever do in my life is good enough.”words only echo in their room as they speak in a low mumble to themselves.The next day they'll sit in class, their hands clasped on the strands of their hands. They pull and squeeze until their eyes tear“I'm useless” they say in thought “i can't do shit right. I'm stressed. No, maybe I'm just lazy. Do i call this lazyness”they’ll get lost in though until the bell rings snapping them out of whatever trance of thought they was in“Fuck all my shit is scattered” they'll mumble to themselves as they rush to put their stuff awayAfterschool is no better. They sit again. Staring. Staring at their computer screen.“nothing…”  despite their mind racing with any and everything they have no idea, no story… no will“Im stressed, but yet again it is my own fault. I'll do it later. But will I really? I'll just ruin it. I always ruin it, i ruin everything’My heart is pounding and my breathing heaves “Everything i ruin everything im just such a big fuck up”My hands pull at my hair then wipe the tears from my eyes.What am I to do?Does any of this matter, is life real. Am I real? What if I'm not? What if-“Mom…”I call out, my voice no more than a squeaky pop.“Oh what’s the use… she doesn't like me. She hates me. Why am I calling out for someone who doesn't even want me around.”they'll call out, they'll sob. It's natural to want comfort from the one who raised you, who you think, who you are TOLD is meant to love you.I look back over at my laptop screen.Is it worth it.Should i try.I sigh as i adjust my laptop.Ill brainstorm and write what comes to mind..Ill write and wont revise. i ll just go with it. It cant get no worse. Ill get it. Ill write. My keys click and clack as i type.That night, they'll stress and dump whatever though comes to mind. Tears will stream and run as they fight the urges to stop and give up, stop and deleted their progress. “What is a story” ;its how they start. How they'll end. They try their best. Fingers clicking, clacking, hovering.At the end of the night, the end of the story, my fingers they hover. Do i actually want to submit this… It sucks.Its about a teen, much like myself…Maybe they are me?Will the teacher even understand my style, the way i write… Understand this is a story,not reality?