The Question

a little flash fiction

She did not want the bus to stop. She did not want it to crash either. A non-stop journey would be enough. Perfect. Anything that lets her hide from her desk.

Because for her, the monster was never under the bed, it lurked under her desk.

The desk had always been there, as long as she could remember. Her parents had given it to her as a gift — a gift that came with interest. The monster hated her. She could feel it staring and judging:
“Is it the best you’ve got? Just 95%? Only 92/100? You must be really relaxed, you have time to read a story book! Oh, so you’re feeling sleepy, you dare to feel sleepy?”

And therefore, coffee became her best friend. Coffee smelled nice, it was strong and it always let her borrow its strength and alertness. She was never not grateful.

But it was getting hard now. Well, it had been hard for a while, it’s only now that she had begun to accept it.

Because now she was out of college. Now she had to go out in the world. A world where there would be no classmates and batchmates; she wouldn’t know their strengths and weaknesses. She had to face the competition. She had to, otherwise the interest would not be paid and she would end up on the streets of despair and worthlessness.

The bus came to a stop. The dread inside her raged like a storm.
She had six months to pass the examination that would let her pay the debt in full. Only six.
Where did all the time go?
She knew but hardly wanted to accept that it went in avoiding the monster.

Can I fight the monster? Do I have to fight the monster? Can’t it leave me alone? she thought for the millionth time.

And she was in her room again. Only, the desk was not there anymore.

The monster was still present though and it was more visible than ever.
It stood in a recognizable shape, a clear familiar boundary full of red scribbling — scribbling of a child who had not learned to color inside the lines yet. And it was marching forward.

She wanted to scream, only no sound came out. It was as if she was deep underwater.
She had to be dreaming. This was not possible. She would wake up any minute now and it would all be the same. No scribbled-in-red monster, and the desk would be back in the upper-left corner of her room. Yes, any minute now.

But it did not stop.

The monster was mere inches away. She had to escape but the door would not open and she could not speak.
She had only one choice.

To look the monster directly in its eyes.

She could not believe what she was seeing.

She was still in her room, only now the ten-year-old her sat at the desk with the report card in hand. 95% — she had topped the class. It was the first time she had done so. Her parents had organized a small party, and some close relatives had been invited. She had never seen her parents happier, not even when they had bought their new car.

But it felt like she was being crushed under a mountain.

The teachers had told her parents that they wished to see them again next year in the Awards Ceremony, “she is such a bright student after all”. But what if… what if the boy in second place wasn’t sick next year and performed better? And what if the girl in third place got better at English?
What then?

Her parents wouldn’t be happy.
There would be no Award Ceremony.
No party. No relatives with treats.
Who would love her then — even like her?

And suddenly she was fourteen in the dining room. She was talking about how scared she was of her Physics test tomorrow. Her father asked,
“Have you given your best?”
She huffed,
“Well, giving my best doesn’t mean I’m going to top the class.”
Her father stopped eating his breakfast, looked at her with solemn eyes, and uttered,
“And how does that matter?”

Why didn’t she remember him ever saying this?

She was suddenly back in her room. With the monster.
Only now, it did not feel as scary to look at.

So she asked,
“What even are you? And where is the desk?”
The monster surprisingly had a normal voice, not the judgmental one she was used to.
“Your desk is still there. You will be able to see it when you let me sit with you.”
“Yeah, right,” she almost shouted.
“And why are you not judging me anymore? I am not nose-deep into my books right now, am I?”
“Because you have the courage to look me in the eyes now. You are giving me your attention and not avoiding me. Your fear is not manipulating my voice anymore.”

Then it asked her a question —
a question she should have asked herself ages ago:

“Do you believe that you would be the same person if you did give your 100%? Are you not curious about that person — who gave her all? Are you confident she would not be different from you?”

And then it clicked.

It was not the monster she was afraid of.

It was the result.
What if she gave her everything and still did not make it?

She was beginning to understand things she had never considered before.

And then, all of a sudden, she looked at the monster as if a revelation dawned on her and asked,
“You are not real, are you?”
“I am as real as you,” it said simply.

And then, the beeps started.

Her body felt sore, as if she had been walking in wet cement for hours. The room felt both familiar and unfamiliar. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw her parents hunched over the bed; worry palpable in their eyes.

“Are you okay, beta?” they asked in a frenzied voice.

Her tongue felt too heavy so she just nodded.

Her mother half-screamed,
“And that’s why I tell you to avoid the bus!”

Her father, calm as always, explained,
“The back of the bus crashed into the road divider. The passengers who were in that part suffered the most injuries.”

Turns out she had cracked two ribs and fractured her left arm. She had been unconscious for about ten hours.

When her tongue had enough strength to move again, she asked,
“Is my desk still there?”

Her mother replied,
“The desk in your room? Of course, where would that go?”

the inspiration for the piece