The Story of Nothing

“You promised that you would write one story a week.”

“Dad, that wasn’t a promise! It was a goal.” 

“Same thing. I better see that story by today. Isn’t today the deadline? Plus, it’s New Year’s Eve, isn’t it? No better way than to end off the year with a story.”

“Yeah. I love writing too, it’s just that… I don’t have any ideas!” I sigh. 

“Well, find somewhere quiet and get writing! Think hard and clear. Have fun.”

Tired, I grab my laptop and trudge on upstairs, trying to think about what I can write about. 

I open the writing website, and stare at the prompts in concentration: 

1. Write about someone scrambling to finish a goal in the last few hours of the year.
2. Write about someone keeping track of time with tally marks on a wall — until one day they discover that all the marks are gone.
3. Write a story that takes place across ten days.
4. Write a story that takes place across ten seconds.
5. Write a story in the form of a top-ten list.

At first, I’m dumbfounded. The prompts swirl through my head, trying to sort themselves out into stories. 

I sit for some more time, trying to make sense of the prompts. 

Write about someone scrambling to finish a goal in the last few hours of the year.

This prompt seems okay, and I could have something work… Maybe something about a person with a trivial goal?

Write about someone keeping track of time with tally marks on a wall — until one day they discover that all the marks are gone.

That prompt reminds me of a jail, like a person in confinement or something. I don’t like this prompt that much. 

Write a story that takes place across ten days.

Wait a minute… This story reminds me of the second story that I wrote! Three Days. That was a pretty creepy story.

Write a story that takes place across ten seconds.

Hmm… This prompt is pretty interesting, and it could be cool if a certain event happened every second. That would be fun to write, wouldn’t it?

Write a story in the form of a top-ten list.

This is a unique prompt, and I think I can work with it… Maybe.

But after all this pondering, I still can’t figure out what I want to write about. I have ideas, but I don’t have a story that has a plot line. 

Half an hour passes, and I haven’t even written a word. 

So I trudge back downstairs, needing my parents’ help. 

“I need help with an idea for a story. All I need is an idea,” I cry out.

My parents look at prompts, squinting when they get close to an idea. We throw a few stories around, but none take flight. 

After a while, though, they both agree, “We’re stumped.” I throw my head back in frustration, and stare at the clock on the website, counting down till the deadline to submit the stories, which is midnight of New Year’s Eve. 

Frustrated, I head upstairs and take a shower, trying to clear out my head and get an idea. I always have great ideas while in the shower. 

And it doesn’t fail me this time either. I try to focus on a prompt, thinking about all the possible stories I could write with it. 

What about that first one? “Write about someone scrambling to finish a goal in the last few hours of the year.”

I try to wrap my head around it, trying to think about a goal a character may have. Someone like a superhero? Or some humble person whose only goal is to help his family? Maybe it could be a teenager, scrambling to finish an assignment to keep their grade up?

I think back to my previous stories, trying to scrape some ideas from them. 

My first story, “Destiny”. It was the first story I submitted, and it helped cure my problem of writer’s block. 

Then came “Three Days”, where I was just beginning to appreciate Reedsy, and was trying out new genres of writing, which was then followed by the story “The Curse” which was also a form of horror. 

“Only One Winner” is one of my best pieces of work, and writing it was a true feeling of pleasure. 

Then came “The Murderer of Spruce Street”, where I started using more adjectives and starting trying to make my story more sensory-oriented, keeping in mind the feedback I had gotten from my other stories. 

“Fatal Fate” was a true heartbreaker, and I then started to realize how much I loved throwing a twist at the end of my stories. 

The rest just kept getting better and better, especially “Moneyball”. 

My writing skills have improved, but I still have a long way to go. 

I then shake my head clear of all the sentimental thoughts that I may have, trying to focus again.

Right. I need to focus on the story for the week.

I try to figure out a story for the prompt about a goal, and then it hits me: I’ve had the goal of writing a story once a week since October. Why can’t I write a story about myself? 

That would be perfect. 

I look back at the clock, which urges me on, saying that I only have 6 hours left. But before I can get writing, I have swim practice. That eats up the precious few hours I have, and when I get back home, the clock laughs at me, showing that I only have less than 3 hours left. 

I fury my head in my hands, knowing that even doing this wastes time. I need every second that I can get.

I scramble to my laptop, and get writing-typing vigorously. 

Meanwhile, my family is getting greedy for the New Year’s celebration, and I curse myself for not writing my story sooner. Procrastination. It leads to many downfalls. 

Planning out every detail, I write the story of myself, laughing at how absurd the idea is. The story isn’t that great, but it’s the thought that counts. 

It would be cool to leave the readers in a paradox, wouldn’t it? Wondering what is real and what isn’t. It’s a mirage. Smoke and mirrors.

I type my last thoughts onto the document, and look over my work. I can hear my family talking below, and hear my name mentioned a few times. I laugh again, thinking about how desperate the writing is, and how I rushed it. It will do. I brush up on a few more paragraphs, trying to make the story more substantial-sounding. 

And… I’m done. I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. 

So I press the submit button-with a few minutes to spare until the New Year. 

Made it in the nick of time.

This is the story of nothing.