Manuel needs at least three Bs to be deemed worthy enough
for a university education. His excellence in basketball, his fierce
overprotectiveness towards his little sister, his insurmountable ability in
making fluffy pancakes – they mean nothing.
It’s strange how a paper determines who you are. Manuel
supposes it’s because people like making things fast, snappy, and, worst of
all, easy. People like reading a something short, as if that would give them
the whole picture.
So Manuel stops his basketball. He stops taking Isabella to
the park. Pancake-making belonged to a past he has severed from himself now.
Now who is he? A shiny gold plate stating his
“achievements”. A culmination of certificates, grades, and the calculated utility
he brings to society. These are what he must use to justify the little space he
occupies in this planet.
“I’m Manuel” can’t be the reason for his existence any
longer.
Submitted for Ad Hoc Fiction's flash fiction competition.
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