The morning air was laden with a heavy scent of baked bread as I made my way to work. The steps leading up to the foyer doors seemed a bit off, or something askew from the ordinary daily routine. I'm not a hundred percent certain if they were cleaned or perhaps even updated. My mind wandered on this thought for what seemed like an hour or more, but I hadn't even made my way to the elevator yet. The steps to the elevator were maybe 15 when I had my sneaks on, but instead, I was wearing my dockers today. And yet again, I drifted off about my shoes and how comfortable they felt today. The feeling was so relaxing until my sense of hunger perked up. I became insatiably hungry and was craving meat—actually, more specifically, pan-fried pork bellies with a nice crispy outer edge and highly scented sautéed essences of garlic, shallots, and turnip. I got to the elevator, and the concierge apologized for the loudspeaker malfunctioning. I nodded and said, "Sorry, what loudspeaker?"
The concierge replied, "Maintenance had turned up the volume for the speakers today."
I obliged again and said, "What about the turnip?"
To which he said, "Today's lunch special is fried turnip and pork bellies in a garlic sauce with garnished shallots."
The concierge came up to me, and I remember him saying, "Mr. Kneeshe, are you okay? You seem to be distant today."
"Normally you make a straight shot to me at the elevator and say 25. Then off we go to the 25th floor."
I apologized to Nas for my cloudy mind set today. I even remarked to him that the baked bread smell had set me back from my normal daily routine.
Nas just shrugged and reassured me that everything is in order, even the electrical problem that Otis corrected. I was thinking to myself that I probably should have taken today off. I knew now that today was just not a regular day, but a day of details and Easter Eggs.
I will clarify the term "Easter Eggs" before I venture any further today. Easter Eggs are glitches—well no, more like missed observations of a daily routine. In other words, common everyday items that we pass by on a regular basis but then suddenly become hyper-aware of as we fixate on them for an over-extended period of time.
"25," Nas called out to me and I just agreed as I normally do. "4," was called out, and no one else was in the elevator as we stopped. The doors opened, and a woman in overalls came in, smiled at me, and said, "Nice kicks!"
I nodded and grinned again, taking a big inhale of her perfume. I knew what it was immediately—Bvlgari! My wife Luna wore that. As I watched her move to the door to exit, she looked back, winked, and made the "call me" sign with her right-hand fingers up to her ear and mouth.
I tried to catch her name, and the crest or name tag said "Otis." Thinking that was a bit different for a woman but realizing all is possible, I decided to wink back just as the doors of the elevator started to close. I looked over at Nas, and he had his head down, cap over his forehead and eyes, so I figured he had noticed but kept tight on this.
Nas yelled, "15," and a few other office workers came in, muttering something about an electrical issue and now having to go to 28. I lost myself in thought again and wondered how these associates would do once they actually made it to the Partners' main floor.
Nas called out, "16."
Another worker came in, and it seemed odd to me that they were dressed the same as Otis but were male and carried the same name tag. These little details kept my mind working in high gear. The entire day was not making sense to me. I actually started to become lost in a fog and thought about the fresh baked bread again and how incredibly mouthwatering the aroma had become.
"18," Nas called out, and two more workers came in and made their way to the back of the elevator.
So, here is the part of my day that didn't make sense. The elevator lights of the floors were completely different from the audibles Nas was calling out. My fogginess was full-on, and I started to fall.
What I remembered next was the soft covers and warm sheets against my face and feet. The smell of ovenfresh-baked bread was the next thing I remembered. Then a voice carried through, calling out, "Kneeshe." That's my name, I heard, as I scrambled to my feet. I looked down and noticed that I had shoes on—patented leather—and I grew confused at this point. Moments later, or what seemed like a wavy, fluid sea of seconds, I sneezed hard and fell to the ground. Nas helped me up and asked if I was OK. Dazed and confused, I found myself at the doors of the elevator, ready to go up.
Nas spoke up to me and offered me water, suggesting the cafeteria should be my primary stop before using the elevator to get some food. At this point, I figured my routine was off the rails, so I figured, why not? Upon entering the cafeteria, the smell of baked bread overpowered my sense of smell, and now I needed to have some of yhe baked bread. Following the beautiful scent of bread, I was harshly interrupted by the sizzle and snapping of frying bacon—or so I assumed. As the snapping sound drew me in, to my surprise, it was pork belly in garlic sauce with shallots and turnip. As I started to eat this meal confusion set in because there was no taste, no smell, or sounds, just nothingness with a faint blip every now and then.
A new smell was creeping in again, but this time the smell was medicinal—lemon-like.
I could hear a woman talking, saying the procedure was successful. However, this seemed like they were talking about someone I knew or should know. At the height of this clarity, the lights and numbers became clear—it was a digital wall clock or timer, just like the numbers on the elevator Nas takes me up to the 25th floor. Then the sounds of more people talking were around the area I was in. They appeared to have these lab coats or uniforms that had "OTIS" on the pockets.
In a stunned state of mind, I reached for my head to try to understand, but was stopped and told to leave the bandages alone, that my brain was just operated on.
I fell back into a heavy sleep.
Upon leaving OTIS, my parents pushed the wheelchair and got to the car safely. Dad apparently said I'd be back to school and could catch up on my grade 6 homework.
This story was proudly presented by OTIS for engagement, sponsorship and leadership. Providing excellence through innovative career elective implant technologies.
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About the Creator
M.g.M
Writing is my creative tool to express emotional triggers and learn to adapt and excell my personal path of healing and linguistic wordsmithing. A lot of what I write does not always make it here. Most from now on will be here.
Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts5 days ago in Longevity
Many Schools Don’t Think Students Can Read Full Novels Anymore — And That’s a Tragedy
In classrooms across the world, a quiet but troubling shift is taking place. Many schools are scaling back or completely abandoning the teaching of full-length novels, replacing them with excerpts, summaries, or short-form texts. The reasoning often sounds practical: students lack the attention span, reading stamina, or motivation to finish long books. But this growing assumption carries a deeper cost. The decline of novel reading in schools is not just an educational adjustment — it is a cultural and intellectual tragedy. The Shrinking Role of the Novel For generations, novels have been central to education. They taught students empathy, critical thinking, moral reasoning, and the patience required to follow complex ideas over time. From classic literature to modern fiction, full novels allowed young readers to live inside other lives and perspectives. Today, however, many educators report that students struggle to complete even a few chapters. Digital distractions, social media, and fast-paced content have reshaped how young people consume information. In response, schools increasingly favor bite-sized reading materials that align with standardized testing and reduced classroom time. While this may appear efficient, it risks sacrificing depth for convenience. Why Reading Full Novels Still Matters Reading a novel is fundamentally different from reading short texts. A novel demands sustained attention, emotional investment, and intellectual endurance. These are not outdated skills — they are essential ones. When students read a full novel, they learn how to track themes across hundreds of pages, understand character development, and recognize cause-and-effect relationships in complex narratives. These abilities translate directly into real-world skills such as problem-solving, patience, and long-term focus. More importantly, novels cultivate empathy. Living inside a character’s thoughts over time helps students understand perspectives vastly different from their own. In an increasingly polarized world, this emotional literacy is invaluable. Lowering Expectations, Lowering Outcomes One of the most concerning aspects of abandoning novels is the message it sends to students: we don’t think you’re capable. When schools assume students cannot handle long-form reading, expectations are quietly lowered. History shows that when expectations drop, outcomes often follow. Students rise to challenges when given the tools and encouragement to do so. If reading stamina is weak, the solution should not be avoidance but gradual rebuilding — just as physical strength improves with practice. Removing novels from curricula denies students the chance to develop this crucial skill. The Role of Technology and Attention It is undeniable that digital culture has reshaped attention spans. Constant notifications, short videos, and algorithm-driven content train the brain to crave immediacy. But schools should act as a counterbalance to this trend, not surrender to it. Education has always required effort that goes against the grain of comfort. Learning mathematics is difficult. Writing essays is demanding. Reading novels is no different. Shielding students from difficulty does not prepare them for adulthood — it weakens their resilience. Engagement, Not Elimination The problem is not novels themselves, but how they are taught. Too often, novels are presented as rigid academic tasks rather than living stories. Educators who connect books to students’ lives, encourage discussion, and allow space for interpretation often see higher engagement. Modern novels, diverse voices, and relevant themes can reignite interest. Pairing reading with creative projects, debates, or multimedia exploration can make novels feel alive rather than burdensome. The answer is innovation in teaching, not retreat from literature. Equity and Cultural Loss There is also an equity issue at stake. Students from book-rich homes may continue reading novels independently, while those without access rely entirely on schools for literary exposure. Removing novels from classrooms widens the cultural gap, depriving many students of the shared experience of literature. Novels are not just educational tools — they are cultural touchstones. They shape language, values, and identity. Losing them from schools means losing a common intellectual heritage. What We Stand to Lose If students grow up believing they cannot read novels, the consequences extend far beyond school. Long-form reading strengthens concentration, memory, and analytical thinking — skills essential for higher education, professional life, and informed citizenship. A society that abandons deep reading risks becoming more reactive, less reflective, and more vulnerable to misinformation. The ability to sit with complexity, ambiguity, and nuance begins with reading books that do not offer instant gratification. Conclusion The belief that students can no longer read full novels is not just pessimistic — it is dangerous. It reflects a failure of imagination and resolve rather than a failure of students themselves. Young people are capable of far more than we often assume, especially when challenged with purpose and support. Abandoning novels may seem like a practical response to modern realities, but it comes at a steep cost. Preserving long-form reading in schools is not about nostalgia; it is about protecting the intellectual and emotional development of future generations. If schools give up on novels, we give up on depth, empathy, and sustained thought. That is not progress. That is a tragedy.
By Fiazahmedbrohi 6 days ago in Longevity
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