It had all started yesterday night when I turned on my laptop. I had to write a short story for school. When I had finished writing the first paragraph, my computer shut down. What a pity! However, I remembered more or less what I had written, so I was not too cross. Well, I turned it on again and wrote out my story. I found it a truly marvelous account. My father came to see how I was doing with my homework, when he tripped over the computer’s cable; hence, shutting it shut off before I had the chance to save my dead story. Sick with fury, I plugged the cable back into the wall. My father left quietly, his chin sunk deep with shame into his breast. I wrote the same well-known story once again. I saved it and, realizing that there was no paper in our printer but that I could print it at school, e-mailed it to my school account. Suddenly, I realized that I forgot my password to log into my e-mail. No matter. I went back to the saved document on my not so trustworthy computer. When I tried to open it, the computer asked me for a password because I had marked the document as of utmost importance, which locked it down so that only the author could access it. I was not sure what this password was, but at least this one had a hint. It said, “Same as your school e-mail password.” Enraged, I stomped over to the table to have dinner.
After dinner I was brightened up. My mother had given me a great idea: I would write it by hand! It took me more work and effort, but I did it! I folded it neatly and I put it in my school bag where it was safer than in that blasted computer. Afterwards, I went to sleep calm and happy. I had finished my homework, for the fourth and final time.
The next morning at school, I looked for my work. It was not there! I searched and searched. I did not find that piece of work. So I anxiously went to the computer lab. If my laptop did not work, it did not necessarily mean that the school’s computers would bring me just as much bad luck. I wrote the story. When I got to the last word, the lights went off. A felled tree had knocked down the wiring that connected the school to the grid. Oh, how I hate the day computers started misbehaving!

“And that, Mrs. Doe, is why I cannot hand in my homework, and I understand if you want to punish me. Just please, I beg of you, do it quickly. Do not make me suffer more than I already have. Woe is I.”
Tears rimmed my eyes as I looked up at my teacher. She stared down at me through a pair of beady eyes, her eyebrows raised, her lips perked stiffly. Through her dry skin I saw pulsing veins, ready to explode and paint the walls with flaming blood.
“Adam,” I was ready for the worst. Ten years-worth of detentions. A thousand essays on why I am such an irresponsible, reckless rash. With any luck, she would only whip me with a steel buckle. Her mouth slowly opened. I clenched my fists and closed my eyes. “Why would I punish you?” She told me with a giggling smile. “That, Adam, was the perfect story.”