"So like I said," said Mr. Linp as he opened his door, "don't let anyone in here. Off limits to everyone, no questions asked."

Sounds easy enough, I thought to myself. "Alright, sounds good. Thanks again for letting me use your classroom computer."

"Yeah, yeah," Mr. Linp trudged as he closed the door behind him.

And now I had the computer all to myself-- I could finally finish publishing the Future Poetics of Tomorrow Magazine. I had to get this thing done, if I wanted the student body to experience the true hope the teenage mind and emotion has after all! These poems were true declerations of students and how they felt, a call to other students that they are not alone in whatever they might be struggling with. And, they were pretty beautiful too.

Not much time left to use the computers, I thought to myself. 10 minutes on the clock.

And so I got to work. Moving, pasting, cropping, cutting. Oh, the life of an editor. It felt as artwork to me though, an art of arrangement on a page. The blank computer screen was a canvas for me to arrange other people's art on-- I was the artist of other people's art.

And the world had to know of the hope these student poets tasted.

And then, POUND, POUND, POUND.

My fingers shuddered as I jolted my typing to a stop.

"MR. LINP? ARE YOU THERE?"

I stood quiet. My mind registered the words as a cry of a helpless student, while my heart registered the words as a chant of a terrorizing burgurlar.

"MR. LINP... I NEED TO GET IN!"

Laughter, whispers. Knocking, more knocking.

"MR. LINP, LET ME IN!!!"

What was I supposed to do again? NOT let this loon in?

"I NEED TO DO A PROJECT!!"

Probably a project you should've finished weeks ago, I thought to myself.

"A PROJECT, MR. LINP! I NEED YOUR COMPUTERS!!"

'Off limits to everyone... no questions asked.' But now this kid was just scaring me.

KICK. He was now KICKING the door. And pounding. Pounding my heart, and my eardrums, much too harshly.

It went on for five minutes, and I couldn't concentrate. Why is this happening to me? I thought. I am trying to do good for the world, and this disctracting lunatic barges in. A little quiet would be nice to spread the hope!

I was getting pretty tempted to slip that door open. I tried rereading some of the poetry, but it couldn't defeat the loud echoes of "MR. LINP, COME ON, LET ME IN, ARE YOU SERIOUS!?!"
I couldn't tell him to stop, or else he'd know I was in here and he'd use that to his advantage. I couldn't leave, because I obviously had to finish this magazine. My physical words could not make him go away.

But my mental ones could.

Be gone! Resist, resist, don't give in. Go AWAY. Be GONE.

I screamed to him in my mind.

And suddenly, silence. The only yelling going on was my mind yelling at him to go away.

He huffed and puffed, and kicked the door one last time, with only the sound of heavy feet on concrete growing quieter and quieter.

Five minutes later, as I typed the last poetry title on the Table of Contents, Mr. Linp walked in.

"So, were people trying to get in?" he questioned.

"Yep."

"And you didn't give in?"

I was proud to say, "No."

He smiled as he walked over to me. "Good," he commented, "and your magazine is going to do wonders for the student body, by the way."

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James 4:7 "Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you."