Everyone's a hero, everyone's a star, and he nodded in silent agreement with Mr. Jon Bon Jovi as he sat at his desk trying to figure out what to do next. His desk's a mess, but somehow he'd always been able to find what he needed. Today, however, he didn't know what he needed. In fact, he didn't know what heroes did, or stars for that matter. They certainly do not sit at their desks with a sore neck and a wandering mind. All he knew was that heroes had to be decisive, and so he decided to do something.
A sweeping glance at his desk and he picks something out which seemed useful, and he indulged in a series of fundamental assessments that somehow gave him a sense of confidence that he felt was as false as the smile he wore on his face upon completion of the assessment. How could he, an epic failure in the subject, score close to full marks for a past examination paper? I try and I try, yet I can't seem to fly, and he began to wonder whether he really did try hard enough to fly. Did he deserve to fly? With that, A1 set him thinking. How he would use the remaining days to salvage the situation that until now was slipping through his fingers, pretty much like how the water he was drinking flowed down his throat without much obstacle.
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be. He stared for a while at the lyrics floating through the luminescent screen of his computer, there will be an answer, let it be, and wondered where the Beatles found their inspiration. Why, if he was talented as such, he wouldn't even have had to enter the education system. Then, if everyone were as talented as the Beatles we wouldn't have the synchronized noise that youths today listen to. They say life is fair because it is unfair for everyone, but does it really matter if he could not accomplish what's expected of him? Just as he asked himself the question, the Beatles in all their wisdom replied: there will be an answer, let it be.
I'm lookin' back on things I've done, I never wanna play the same old part, but hey he's dying to play the same old part that he's played. Guy with considerably good results who had friends that he could rely on, well, at least while they were stuck in the same boat. It felt tons better than what he has at present, but he figures that he should be thankful for the present. After all he could have ended up totally friendless. He types a message to friends which read: You can save me from the man that I've become, and decided to delete it because it was a complete rip from Backstreet Boys.
I never want to play the games that people play, I never want to hear the things they've got to say. But how could he not? If he didn't,it would be him against the world. If its wrong to tell the truth, what am I supposed to do? He doesn't know, and he figures that he'll probably never figure it out, so he let the matter rest. I never wanted to live a lie, and he never wanted to feel so Blue or Guilty, but he couldn't help it, just like how he couldn't change the fact that he had his examinations coming in a bit.
His neck hurt bad, and it pulled him back into reality. His aunt said it'd last for a few days, and he can't help but feel this ominosity inside. He'd have to wake up early the next morning to listen to a speech he dreaded ever since he knew about it, and he'd have to figure out what he'd do the next day too. Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away. What now? It looks like they're here to stay...
He concludes that caffeine-induced insomnia isn't the way out if he's going to end up blogging interesting nonsense instead of GP essays.
