Supernovae.

As it were, humans died. As it always was, these humans died. 1329 was a year of extreme turmoil, disaster, and the most peculiar things. A green gas had faded over the entire Earth. Covering oceans, seas, canals, rivers, lakes, ponds, dirt, grass, gravel, concrete, buildings, houses, cows, horses, cats, dogs, everything and anything that held mass. When humans awoke in the wee hours of morning, they found that they’re outdoors was a creamy green colour. The first known case of a Supernova experience was three days after the green wash that had settled over. The woman’s name has been repeatedly changed over the centuries, to fit new generations. Mary, Sarah, Rainelle, Gabriella. She was thirty-two when a spectacular vision unfolded.

Her entire body concaved into itself. Her flesh ripped, and her blood seeped out of the edges, her bones cracked inside her body, her face deformed, dripping off her bone structure like a medium viscosity. Family members, horrified, had nightmares for months. Mary/Sarah/Rainelle/Gabriella was said to be in the most extreme kind of pain. It’s said that she collapsed into herself. After all was said and done, a beautiful flame licked her body in its taboo kind of kiss. A phenomenal catastrophe, an explosion erupted from the white flame, sparkling millions of hundreds of colours. Ranging from thousands of blue hues, to billions of yellow hues.

Emerged from her body, was another girl. Much younger, more beautiful, and, as it would come to, immortal, of course, this wasn’t the case. In 2001, speculations say that the woman exploded in an equally disastrous explosion of dust and particles. For days afterward, the street glittered with red, blue, yellow, green, orange, and every other color on the spectrum. In the sun, it shone so brightly, retinas burned and eyeballs started to water.

Other cases have been brought up recently, also. Where people have exploded into stardust. Of course, these cases may or may not hold any substance. However, there have been no cases of any more formations of new bodies erupting from old ones. Some say its nothing more than folklore, to scare children into living a healthy, Christian life. Or whichever religion you may be involved in. Others say that only certain people get this treatment, and that there are “Supernovas”, the name scientists gave this dilemma, hidden in the world. In hiding. People are scared of change, when the green gas came, everything was different: people listened to each other, they no longer thought, no longer brought any exceptions or moral into rules, so they follow the book, and the book tells them that they should be afraid of abnormalities, because these abnormalities don’t agree your plain lifestyle.

In conclusion, there’s no real, solid proof of anything. No one reliable was around when the woman from the thirteenth century exploded, there was no proof of the ‘sparkly road’, and there was no proof that the lady was collapsed into a “supernova”, and all we really know is that the green mist around the Earth did something to our world, but the exact ‘thing’ has not been shown.

“And when time stops, this will still be the worstest essay in all the supernovae history,” her hand pushes the paper down onto the library table; the recycled paper was still warm from the Inkjet printer. The words were a blur of crap on the paper, only being five hundred and some; it wasn’t nearly the minimum length, not even two fourths close.

‘It’s all right, its okay. No one will notice. They won’t count. They won’t, won’t they? Hope not. Would really suck if they did. Not enough time, bell rings soon. This really sucks. Oh my, God. Please don’t let anyone count the words. Please, God, don’t let anyone notice that my page is three paragraphs shorter than everyone else’s.

Please God, let it be so that my writing is absolutely fantastic, and there will be no need to deduct any points. Please, please, please! Take pity on the helpless, you owe me, God.’

This current mindset is a good way to go, she thinks. Its fantastic, being so positive and outspoken. In her mind, yes-ah.

“Done?”

“Yes.”

“How many words?”

“Oh, at least a thousand,” lie. Five hundred. She picks at the edge of the paper. Sharp.

“I only have seven hundred.”

“That’s a lot.”

“Not really,” in comparison to hers, yes it was.

“Don’t be so harsh, Larry, its enough. It’s a lot. Too much, actually. You should probably delete some words.”

“Larissa. It’s Larissa. All right, Francine,” smack-dab, Larry, that one hurts. It’s Francie.

“Francie. Its Francie.”

“Don’t like it so much, do ya, Francine?”

Larissa prints off her paper, passes it off to Francine to read. Francine doesn’t actually want to read it, makes her feel bad about her own paper, but she skims, anyway. Points out the typos, per request, and hands it back.

“Thanks.”

Francine doesn’t respond, but rather adds a big-fonted title, the date, and her name. Along with a font that appears bigger while still says on the required twelve-point font.

“Amanda’s essay has more than a thousand words. That’s a lot, she writes in these big block paragraphs, its hard to read,” Francine maybe thinks Larry adds the last part because she doesn’t want Francine to feel inadequate.

Truth is, she does. She wrote five hundred words on a subject that could go well beyond the two thousand.

“I don’t know how she freaking does it,” Francine mumbles into her palms. She presses them into her lips and feels the solid of her teeth.

“Neither do I. And its good. Always. Overachiever,” Keener, loser, geek.

“Wow,” Francine looks over her shoulder at Amanda. Still typing. Still talking. Typing, talking, simultaneously. How does she do that? Francine would like to do that. Take some classes at the Radisson, learn how to type a phenomenal essay and still chat away like life depends on the use of your vocal cords.

“Don’t forget your name,” just to say something, Francine fills the air with that, a useless reminder, already seen the name on the top left corner.

“Got it.”

Francine looks at her page again. Supernova. Supernovae. Got it.