Nebula Land was supposed to be the project that turned me into a Creator. But after Brady’s accident, it felt wrong to submit it, so I held off. I was surprised to read about my idea in the company newsletter after learning Lance stole the main parts I had shared with him in private.
What would Brady think of Lance manipulating our idea? The ride looks nothing like our original plan. My lungs burn with the heavy breath I let out, and my eyes become watery as I run a finger across a sketch Brady did.
Critiquing Lance’s idea isn’t going to get you anywhere closer to submitting yours.
I turn on my laptop, sign in to my employee account, and open the annual Dreamland submissions portal. The blinking cursor in the empty text box mocks me, but I refuse to give up. Claire believes in me, and maybe it really is time I stop letting Lance get in my way of believing in myself.
This was a very bad idea. After my first failed draft, I decided wine and a broken heart were a good combination for my second attempt.
Update: It was not.
I’m still nowhere close to having a submission ready. Everything I write about seems too underwhelming and lacks my usual passion. I take another swig of wine straight from the bottle in a way that would horrify my mother.
What if working through your negative feelings about the Nebula Land ride helps open up your mind to more creative ideas?
Yes! Maybe that’s what I’m missing. I delete everything from the text box and restart. At the top, I write The real Nebula Land that would make Brady Kane proud. My fingers fly across the keys as I let out every single thought I have toward the project. I’m done staying silent and pretending the ride doesn’t bother me.
When I was with Lance, that’s the kind of person I became comfortable being. The silent, demure type who didn’t want to make any waves because I prioritized his happiness. In the end, it was all for nothing. I gave up the person I was for a man who couldn’t handle the woman I was meant to be.
All my fingers cramp up from typing. It feels empowering to tear apart something that broke me first. By the time I’m done, my vision is a bit blurry and my coordination could be better.
Since drinking and typing have no place in my life, I decide to click the Save Draft button at the bottom and shut my laptop for the night.
“Oh no!” Oh no, no, no. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuuck!”
Claire runs into my room. “What is it?”
I stare at the application portal.
This can’t be real. I pinch my arm so hard, I wince. The bright green letters mock me in a way that has my stomach threatening to revolt.
Your application has been submitted.
Claire looks over my shoulder at the screen. “You submitted it without asking me to double-check for typos? Who are you and what have you done with the real Zahra?”
“It was an accident!” I drop onto my bed, cover my face with a pillow, and scream.
Claire rubs my trembling arm. “What if you send an email to Mr. Kane and the Creators explaining the mistake? I’m sure they would understand.”
I tug the pillow away from my face. “Are you kidding me?! What am I supposed to say? ‘Sorry I got a tiny bit drunk and submitted an application tearing apart your most expensive ride’？”
She brushes my hair out of my face. “Maybe it’s not as bad as you think.”
“I called Lance’s ride a big metal pile of shit that would make Brady Kane roll over in his grave.”
She winces. “Oh, okay. Well. Yeah. You have always had a talent with words. At least you’re putting that English degree to good use.”
I groan. “I can’t believe I hit the wrong button. I should have never been drinking and working. What was I thinking?”