The Prose Teacher
A micro fiction
A time ago there was once -
‘No. Again!’
The rod whipped through the air and across my knuckles, drawing blood. It dripped through my fingers onto my keyboard.
‘Your prose clunks like a pianist playing bad notes. A great pianist loses their audience in the music; their craft is invisible.’
She tapped my keyboard. ‘This is your instrument. The reader cares not how you type, just the words you play. They should not, like bad notes, draw attention to themselves. Again!’
Once upon a time…
I hesitate.
She nods. ‘Better. Much better. Continue.’
About the Creator
Shane Dobbie
If writing is a performance art then I’m tap dancing in wellies.
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Outstanding
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Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Easy to read and follow
Well-structured & engaging content
Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters
Expert insights and opinions
Arguments were carefully researched and presented
Eye opening
Niche topic & fresh perspectives
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
Masterful proofreading
Zero grammar & spelling mistakes
On-point and relevant
Writing reflected the title & theme
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The Message I Received at 3:17 AM That Changed Everything
It was 3:17 AM when my phone buzzed. I wasn’t expecting any messages at this hour, and yet, there it was—a notification that made my heart skip a beat. The sender’s number was unfamiliar, a string of digits that didn’t seem to exist. At first, I thought it was a prank or a wrong number. But as I stared at the screen, a shiver ran down my spine. The night was silent except for the faint hum of my air conditioner. I had been reading on the couch, a cup of coffee growing cold beside me, when the message arrived. The glow from the phone screen illuminated my face in the otherwise dark room, and the words on it were simple, yet terrifying: “I know what you did.” My first reaction was disbelief. Who could know? And what exactly did they mean? I quickly checked my call log, my messages, even my social media—but nothing seemed out of place. My mind raced through every memory, every small secret I thought I had buried safely. Nothing made sense. I tried to brush it off. Maybe it was just a spam message, or someone trying to scare me. But deep down, I couldn’t shake the unease. Another buzz. Another message. “Check the drawer under your desk.” I froze. My desk. The one place I kept my old journals, letters, and random keepsakes. Hesitation gripped me, but curiosity got the better of fear. I walked over to the desk, my steps slow and deliberate, trying to avoid making a sound. The drawers were ordinary, the top one containing my stationery. But the second drawer… it was slightly open. I hadn’t left it that way. My hands trembled as I pulled it fully open. Inside was an envelope, yellowed with age, no name on it, no stamp. Just my initials written in hurried handwriting. I picked it up, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst from my chest. The envelope contained a single sheet of paper. The handwriting was familiar—it was my own. I had no memory of writing this letter, yet reading it sent chills through me. The message inside described events from a week ago, tiny choices I had made, conversations I had forgotten… and ended with a warning: “If you ignore this, everything will be revealed.” Panic set in. I checked the room again. Every light, every corner, every shadow seemed alive. The air felt heavier, as if something unseen was watching me. My phone buzzed again, this time with a single word: “Now.” I didn’t know what to do. Should I call the police? Should I delete everything? My instincts screamed to run, but I couldn’t leave the envelope behind. Something about it demanded attention, a silent command that I couldn’t ignore. Slowly, I unfolded the paper again. The words seemed to shift, almost as if the letter itself were alive. Memories I had blocked came rushing back—the lie I told my best friend, the small theft at a local store I thought no one noticed, the message I sent to someone I shouldn’t have. All of it documented here, perfectly detailed. How was this possible? How could anyone know so much? Suddenly, the room’s temperature dropped. My breath became visible in the faint light of the phone. I thought I saw a shadow move in the corner of my eye, but when I turned, nothing was there. My phone buzzed once more. Another message: “You can’t hide anymore.” Fear turned into a strange clarity. I realized that this was more than a threat—it was a reflection. The envelope, the messages, the unknown sender… it wasn’t about someone else. It was about me. About the parts of myself I had ignored, the secrets I thought I could bury, and the truth I had avoided facing. I spent the rest of the night going through everything I had ever hidden, every journal, every memory, every tiny choice that made me who I was. By morning, I felt exhausted but different. The fear hadn’t disappeared, but it had shifted into understanding. I couldn’t change the past, but I could face it—and maybe, just maybe, write a better future. To this day, I don’t know who sent the first message at 3:17 AM. Some nights, I still feel the chill when my phone buzzes, a reminder that the past never truly leaves us. But I also know this: sometimes, the scariest messages lead to the most important revelations. And every time I think I’ve escaped my past, I check my phone… just in case.
By Baseer Shaheen 3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (41)
Simply superb. I'm glad I got to see that magical sentence in action (The rod whipped through the air and across my knuckles, drawing blood.).
Nice one
Getting Whiplash vibes. Great work
oh gosh, Shane, i connect with this story more than i even want to! 😉
Wow. I felt this in my soul and fingers. We’ve all been there. Keep writing! You got this. 😉
Hahaha. I think that Prose Teacher has tenure in my head. Great stuff!
Great story. I'm glad I never had a teacher like that. I am old enough to have taken a typing class in high school!
Congratulations!!! Check out some of my writings too <3
I always wondered what happened to Mrs. Jones. 🤣 Great story Shane.Congratulations 🥇
Whoohoo! Congratulations on your Top Story!
This is great! Congratulations ❤️
Congratulations on your Top Story✨💖🎉
I felt this one...
Amazing work Shane!!! and congratz on Top Story.
Congratulations on Top Story, Shane!
This is relatable, hilarious, and a bit horrifying. Great work.
Ouch? Ah, the dangers of clichés... I wouldn't touch one with a ten-foot pole... Thwack! Great Top Story!
Congrats on top story! I really love this challenge and the great stories it brings out.
Great story and congratulations on your top story
Ouch. Congratulations!
I'm not gonna lie I really like this! I like how short this is but yet very interesting.
Ohh excellent ❤️❤️❤️
Ouch, I've been cracked across the knuckles before in school, but this is another level, lol. And blood is flying for the first line? brutal Congratulations on Top Story!
Congratulation. I guess you put the coma in the correct place. 😉
Congrats on your TS!! 👏👏😁