"A story?" I asked again.
"Yeah, he said write a magical realism story about something that happened to you, and if you cant think of anything then make something up,"
"That sounds dumb," I replied, "But I shouldn't have much trouble with it," I took out a pencil and piece of paper and began to write.
"Seems like a fine enough title,EI thought. I began to write the body.
I sat in French class, waiting eagerly for the bell to ring. After what seemed like forever, it finally did. I ran out of the room into the halls, which were crowding up as break began. A friend of mine walked up to me showed me this poem he wrote. It didn't make any sense, and was all about ducks. As I was about to hand back the paper to him, I realized that everyone in the hall had turned into ducks. One of them looked at me and said "The Bruins suck!" I kicked the insolent duck and it exploded into a brilliant rainbow.
I gotta lay off the acid, I thought to myself. I blinked several times. I realized I hadn't kick a duck, but my friend Steve in the foot. He looked down at me and said something dumb, I looked up, and realized that his neck was getting longer. It crashed through the ceiling, and a cloud of asbestos filled the hallway. I turned away and closed my eyes. When I opened them, I was in the Serengeti Plains! There was a giraffe, who looked at me. I turned and ran away. I looked back and to see the giraffe charging after to me. I looked forward again and saw a tree in front of me. I collided with it and fell backwards onto the ground.
When I opened my eyes, I was looking up at a satellite dish. What was I doing in the courtyard? I decided I needed a drink. I went into the cafe to buy a soda. It cost a buck, the lousy duck. When I was back in the hallway, I looked at the soda. It was laughing at me.
"Why are you laughing at me little Coke can?" I asked.
It smiled back, "I have come to eat your world"
My friend took the paper and read it. When he finished, he said, "I don't think that's what the teacher is looking for"
"Why is this not acceptable?" I asked.
"Because he's an idiot. Magical realism is something else, not really fiction"
"Whatever" I thought, as I continued to write.
I laughed at the coke can. I popped the top and took a drink, but spit it all out. I looked at the floor. It was covered it spaghetti. But then it started to move! This isn't spaghetti! It's white snakes covered in blood! They're all twisted together into one large strand, then stood up and hissed at me.
I took the piece of paper and threw it to the floor.
"Fucking teacher," I thought, "I can't do this. When am I ever going to need to know about Magical realism?"