I Don’t Like Essays.

In the mud of time

It’s clear: I don’t like writing essays. Or reading them, for that matter… They remind me of school dissertations — introduction, thesis, antithesis. Nothing bores me more than having to argue, prove, or convince.

So why force myself, you may ask? And you’d be right. From now on: stories, nothing but stories. Until I change my mind again…

I love uncertainty — or rather, I try to make peace with it. That hesitation before typing the first word, not knowing what the story will reveal. So I’m setting aside my routine — fiction one week, essay the next — to share a story written for the Contreforme workshop, under a single constraint: five hundred words. A seemingly innocent exercise...

But enough chatter. I’ll let you follow Professor Abouhab on his journey through time.

Let’s hope no one gets lost along the way…

A Present from the Past

As planned, Professor David Abouhab would spend the end of the day collecting specimens by the seashore. He inhaled deeply, savoring the pure, ample air of the Mesozoic. The apprehension he’d felt at first had given way to a wonder so clear it almost hurt. Once again, he congratulated himself on his good fortune. His expertise in botany, combined with his athletic build, had made him the ideal candidate for these first expeditions. This pristine land, generous and alive, abounded in treasures that humanity, David hoped—without truly believing—would one day learn not to plunder, but to study and preserve.

A number of strange creatures frolicked, barely disturbed by his presence, amid lush vegetation. They had never encountered humans and were blissfully unaware of their cruelty. As for the predators — those massive dinosaurs so famous in popular culture — he worried little, trusting his protective suit and, above all, the emergency bracelet on his wrist. Thanks to advances in biometric recognition, a simple press through the fabric of his glove was enough to bring him back to base.

He was wading through the water, studying an interesting type of algae, when an intuition made him straighten up. As he leapt backward, a huge mass surged past and struck him. It took him a few seconds to realize that the creature had torn off his hand — and with it, the emergency bracelet. He stared at the stump, surprised by his calm and the absence of pain. The animal, a spinosaurus that had overshot its mark, turned back toward him. The professor screamed. His cries grew louder as the enormous jaws closed over him, then all went silent.

The immersion ended, and a beam of light illuminated the speaker:

“My many conversations with David, along with the analysis of the black box and the remains — well, what was left of them — have allowed us to reconstruct the events. Some have suggested that Professor Abouhab may have triggered the return mechanism while inside the creature’s mouth, and thus caused the carnage. I firmly reject such slander. We should instead attribute this tragedy to pure misfortune. By sheer chance, the peristaltic motion of the stomach brought the emergency button into contact with the index finger of the right hand. And by sheer bad luck, the contact lasted long enough to trigger the spinosaurus’s teleportation into our present. The professor’s rehabilitation is crucial — for his memory, for his family, and for the future of temporal research. Let us not allow grief to cloud our reason. Professor Abouhab served science to his very last breath. May he rest in peace.”

The speaker paused briefly, then continued:

“With this necessary introduction behind us, I’d like to move on to the evaluation of the new safety protocols.”

See you soon, 

L. M. Rapp

✨ If you enjoy my writing, you might also like my novel Of Flesh and Tears.

📖 More here: www.lmrap/en