In English, we wrote a flash fiction story. In these stories, the plot would progress and the entire story would be told without the use of dialogue. We were told to use visual metaphors and other artistic writing tools to tell our story.
The agonizing distress in Jenny’s eyes was plainly clear to anyone who was paying the slightest bit of attention, and yet, was missed by her ever-excited interviewer. Earlier that morning, the weather app on her phone had indicated a cold day, but thankfully, in the office where the college interview was being held, the heating system worked perfectly, which she could confirm by looking at the thermostat on the wall next to her. Of course, this did little to explain the trembling of her leg bouncing up, down, up, down. She had a guess of what was causing it, given that she was shaking like a teenager after downing a late night six pack of Redbull, but she really had no reason to be so nervous. She’d worked hard throughout high school, maintaining her near perfect gpa while balancing extracurriculars. She was a great candidate, but clearly, her legs hadn’t caught up with her brain, which was desperately sending her leg signals to stop shaking. She was doing well so far, answering all the questions eloquently, clearly showing off her wit, humor and intelligence.
If only she could relax. Every minute she spent in that office felt like an eternity, leading her to become more and more distressed, until she snapped, no longer able to deal with it. In a matter of seconds, she was on her feet and out the door, vaguely remembering she’d told the interviewer she needed a moment.
She started her way towards the exit, where she could see bliss coming closer and closer, across a hallway that was shorter than her driveway. As the bright red exit sign neared, she remembered: This was her dream school, she had posters covering her bedroom walls. But she couldn’t go back, not sit in that menacing room, across that intimidating interviewer. For the sake of her future, and fulfilling her dream, she trudged back across the hall, towards that interview which had stressed her out more than her AP Physics final had. When she finally finally reached the foreboding door, whose deep chestnut color and carved school logo symbolized her dream, she took a deep breath, tucked any hair that had come out of her ponytail, and entered the room to resume her interview.
Needless to say, when she got her acceptance letter months later, she’d never been more excited.