7:15 a.m.

She hears the engine of the cars passing by slowly. The occasional honking of a few parents could never be missed. The school will start in a few minutes. She knew she was already late for work and that there wouldn’t be time to make breakfast.

“I’ll grab an apple. At least it is something.”

A Dutch bath

She quickly jumps in the shower. In the morning, she usually does not use soap. She thinks it is too harsh on her skin. It usually takes her about five minutes to shower. She brushes her teeth immediately after showering. Then she picks the first outfit in her unorganized closet, slips on her shoes, and heads to work. O, and she puts on sunblock. She might be disorganized, but she always remembers her SPF 50. If there’s enough time, she also uses a light moisturizer. And she does her brows; that is a must.

Meant to live for so much more

In the car, she usually puts on music. She avoids listening to soft music in the mornings; otherwise, she will feel sleepy. She was not a morning person. She usually eye-rolls articles stating that morning people achieve more and get the best in life just by waking up early. For the last few months, she has been thinking hard about the “meaning of life.” When she was fourteen, she got an assignment at school. She had to write a paper titled, “What is the meaning of life?”

She loved to write, so it was a fun assignment, but the question she would realize was much harder to answer. Poor little thing didn’t know that whatever she may have put on paper would have been enough to pass, but this task was not only about getting a good grade. She found herself conflicted over the question.

“What is the meaning of life anyways? I guess to finish school and get a job that pays well. Yes, that must be it. That is what Mom and Dad always keep telling me. To do good in school so I can get a job that is easy and pays well. By “easy,” I mean I do not have to work hard physically (at least).

That morning she thought about it in the car on her way to work. She didn’t turn the A/C on or put on music like she usually does eighter. It was just her and her thoughts. Her ride was smooth. She was late for work (again) and had missed most of the traffic.

“What is the meaning of life? I guess it’s different for everybody, right? There is something I am not quite comprehending. Maybe it’s because I’m not a mother yet and have not felt that kind of love. That is why that question is still hard to answer after all these years, but that cannot be it. You should not have to be a parent to know the real meaning of life. 

Thinking over this whole “meaning of life thing” makes it easier for me to consciously choose not to have kids. What is the point? So they can be forced to do things they don’t want like I am right now? It’s like the whole meaning of life is work. I love our unborn children too much to do that to them. I wonder if people my age find themselves thinking like this too. 

Everyone is born without their consent. I guess they have too. Maybe I’m overthinking. I hate when I think too much. I gaslight myself into thinking I am the crazy one, except they are the ones who are crazy enough to bring innocent children into this world right now. Some may say I am a coward and don’t know what I am talking about because I never had a soft toothless mouth sucking on my nipples. To them, I say a big fu.. you.”

“Are you alright there, buddy?”

“What is going on? Why am I back here? I am not supposed to be here.”

She looks at her hands, confused and in shock. She gets up from her chair and looks in front of her.

“Wha-what, what is happening? You are all here, but this is a dream. I am daydreaming. I did not have coffee this morning, and that’s why this is happening.”

“Get back in your chair and finish the assignment!”

A few students in the back started to laugh.

“She has always been so weird.”

“What is her problem? That is why she barely has any friends.”

She sat down, heard the comment of those in the back, but did not say a word to them. She stared at the blank page in front of her. She did not write her name, but she knew it was hers. She had the signature flower that she always drew on the right-bottom of the page.

“O no, mister Mann is going to be so upset.”

Last time mister Mann told her that he would take a point whenever he saw a drawing on the exam paper.

“That is why you have art classes. Now do your exam and stop interrupting the rest of the class!”

Besides her drawing, she noticed that she did manage to write something on the paper.

“The meaning of life is daydreaming. The only meaning you will ever find in life is when you dream. So keep dreaming.”

“Look, she is sleeping again.”

“She must be sick or something. Mister Mann, she fell asleep again.”

“What?! I don’t know what is happening to you, but this will be your last chance, or I’ll have to send you to the principal’s office.”

She opened her eyes again slowly. She could see all their faces in front of her.

“Are you okay?”

“What has gotten into you today? I told all of you that you only have half an hour to complete this task. Is it so hard to follow one order? Now finish the job!”

“I cannot be daydreaming. I thought daydreams were supposed to be happy.”

“Now, what are you mumbling? Get your things and get out of my class.”

“Keep dreaming? That’s not very meaningful. I don’t want to dream. I want to experience, and I want to do things!”

She gets on the table in front of the whole class.

“While all of you were following orders from this one over here. I daydreamed what the meaning of life is. And you want to know what it is? Fucking nothing!”

“Lucy! What has gotten into you? What is the meaning of this?”

She looks around her. All of her colleagues, including the ones that came from abroad to hear about the company’s expansion, were there looking troubled at her.

She got off the table. She was sure they all saw she chose not to wear underwear today because that is something she would do now and then when her skirt was knee length. 

“You may be dismissed. I will see you in my office after lunch.”

Note: this story was inspired by the ‘1 month of writing ideas for December’ by @the.plottery