The blank page stares back, challenging me to dirty its pristine recycled whiteness. I lie fearing that this monster will devour any thoughts I have and make them look like only tattered shreds of thought on paper. Hesitantly, I begin to formulate ideas for an essay by writing notes on the page. It's as if I hope to mock the page into submission with ideas, so that I may begin to write.
As I take my notes and start to write, I begin to have delusions of grandeur. Right before my eyes the essay suddenly becomes the Great American Essay. If all the great essays of the world were combined, it still would not compare to my essay. It's the pinnacle of man's achievements. Nothing is greater. I wish that all of humanity may read my essay. Who knows, it my stop wars, famines and other disasters. Everybody will want to read it.
Soon words flow from my pen like the mighty Amazon into the Atlantic Ocean. Words become sentences; sentences become paragraphs; paragraphs suddenly transform into the greatest essay ever. It's so easy to write; it almost writes itself. I begin to wonder if it will ever end. I just keep writing and writing and writing...
As I step back into reality, I realize the foolishness of my thoughts. The page isn't a monster and this is definitely not the Great American Essay. I'm just a kid lying in bed at 11 o'clock at night, writing an essay that is due tomorrow. I hope that my essay will be able to compare to the other essays. With that thought I toss my finished essay and pen to the floor and turn off the light.