Proofreading classmates’ work for my fiction writing class got me like
God have mercy on your soul.
I don’t want to believe that someone, a real human being, actually submitted this as a piece for a fiction writing class. I don’t want to believe. Please tell me you’re lying. Please tell me you made this up for notes. Please, I need to retain some faith in humanity.
My friend, it’s real. I’ll paraphrase because I don’t want to post more, the author really does have the right to write whatever they want and it is their personal work, and the only parameters we were given was “a linear plot,” but it’s honestly just like reading a sixteen-year-old wet dream. If there had been some POINT to it other than just dissolving into the dryad and tiger humping on the restaurant floor, I could get past it, but it ends with them being escorted out of said restaurant and that’s it. No comment on crossing social boundaries or loving someone for who they truly are, it’s the tree getting aroused by tiger titties and the flower boner turns the tiger on. For nine pages.
Best part is we all have to talk about this aloud in class tomorrow.
