This Is The Way We Always Free-Write

Prompt: This is the way we always do it.

This is the way we always do it. We all filter into the room, sitting at the seats we always sit at, sitting with the people we always sit by. A few conversations between a few individuals pervade the room for a few minutes before the professor speaks. Most of us just sit silently, either reading the piece that we put off until now, typing half-heartedly at our laptops, or simply staring at something very far away.

This is always followed by the professor standing and speaking. The few conversations die down with little prompting, as the class is prompted to free-write about the prompt we are prompted with. Whatever it may be, whatever randomosity we contrive to see, we sit and write and type away, the beginning of the end of day.

This is the way we always do it. Bad things happen, and they seem to happen in waves. You can't have one suicide attempt without another. Is it the season, is it the air? Is it the way you think no one cares? You're trying to leave behind all those you know. What can we say to convince you not to go? I get distracted and depressed, even about the things I love the best. What is refreshing on any other day is suddenly melancholy and dull... A game I do not wish to play.

I'm sorry for my dreary view, in truth I do appreciate you. It's just that on today, writing does not seem the way.