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♫ Kein Orm ♫
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“I enter the corridor” is written at the top of my notebook. Everyone else is writing diligently. I stare at my scrawled letters. Ana comes to my desk. She’s our German teacher and wants us to call her by her first name, but I prefer “Ms. Ried.” Actually, I’d rather say nothing at all, especially when she’s so close that I can smell her – that fresh apple scent makes me feel strange, and my mouth goes all dry.
“Let your creativity run wild, just write whatever comes to your mind,” she encourages me. I keep staring at my notebook because I know if I look at her, weird things will happen. I’ll turn all red, and I’ll probably start to stutter or something.
“Come on now! ‘I enter the corridor.’ And then just continue with whatever comes to your mind.”
I put the pen to paper. It trembles. Hopefully, she doesn’t notice. I start to write. Ms. Ried turns away. I write and write. Always the same, always the same sentence.
“I enter the corridor. I enter the corridor. I enter the corridor. I enter the corridor. I enter the corridor…”