Ding—
The school bell rings, signalling the end of the day. The sound of the bell echoes throughout the classroom, causing so students to jolt out of their daydreams and break the concentrations of others who were focussing on the lesson.
The classroom instantly beca noisy as students begin to converse with their friends about their after-school activities.
"Ahem," Their teacher, however, cleared her throat, indicating that she had sothing else to say. The students stop their chattering and turn their focus back to her. They're curious and a little bit apprehensive. What else does their teacher want to say?
With a serious tone, she reminds her students. "Class, the assignnt I gave earlier is due by the end of this month. Although it may seem like a lot of ti, I strongly advise against leaving it until the last minute. This assignnt will contribute a significant portion to your final grade."
The teacher continues, "Rember that I have high expectations for each and every one of you. Spend your ti wisely in planning and organising your task, and make sure that you are fulfilling all requirents. If you have any questions or concerns, do not hesitate to co and see during my office hours. I expect your best effort, and I will deduct marks for subpar submissions."
So exchanged anxious glances as they realised they had completely forgotten about the assignnt given last week.
A few students at the front imdiately raised their hands to ask the teacher for clarification on certain parts of the work, and she patiently answered each one one at a ti.
Hearing her explanation, the majority of the students paled visibly. Clearly, they are either not yet started or have a plan to burn the midnight oil, underestimating the complexity of the task.
By the ti she finished, the classroom was silent without any conversation. Knowing that they had a lot of work to do, the students were lost in thought.
In one corner of the classroom, a 14-year-old boy nad Patrick was seemingly unfazed. In contrast to his panicked classmates, he had begun to work on this assignnt.
At a glance, everybody can see that he didn't quite fit in with his classmate. His significantly smaller stature and youthful features set him apart from his peers.
This is because he was only fourteen years old but not an average 14-year-old.
Despite his age, Patrick's intellect had propelled him to skip grades all the way to the second year of high school. It is a feat that not everyone can replicate. Thanks to his insatiable appetite for knowledge, he was ahead of his peers in terms of both knowledge and creativity.
He pays no attention to anyone and remained in a world of his own, absorbed in sketching sothing in his notebook. His hand move with fluid ease across the page. Each curve and line he sketched was evidence of his extraordinary imagination and talent.
Patrick wasn't doodling aimlessly but materializing intricate designs and sketches that lingered in his mind. As for its function, he doesn't disclose it to anyone.
"Hey, Patrick! Did you draw weird stuff in your notebook again?" Patrick was startled when he heard a familiar voice calling out to him. He continues, "Anyway, want to hang out with us after this?"
Patrick looked up only to see his few friends looking at him expectantly. He crease his eyebrows and asked, "You guys still had the gall to play? Don't you hear how complicated the assignnt is?"
He was amazed by their nonchalant attitudes.
His friends stretch their cheeks and laugh dryly, "W-Well, you know how it is, Patrick. Sotis we need a little break and have fun."
He shook his head before ultimately declining the invitation, "I'm sorry, guys. I can't hang out this ti around. I have sothing to do at ho."
"Eehhh!! What could be more important than hanging out with us." His friend asked, nudging Patrick with his elbow.
Patrick sighed and closed his notebook, setting aside his sketches. He replied, attempting to seem as casual as he could. "Well...I'm currently working on sothing important and can't afford to be distracted."
Albeit curious, his friends didn't ask further questions. They know Patrick doesn't like persistent people. "Okay, we get it. Maybe so other ti then."
Their question caused him to recall the conversation he had with his little sister months ago.
Patricia who was four years younger than him approached. Her eyes sparkled with excitent. "Patrick, I've been thinking about sothing lately?"
"Oh?! It's rare for you to think." He said sarcastically.
Oof!—
After landing a kick on Patrick's stomach, she continues. "What if we have a machine that chanically writes letters without the need for quills?"
Patrick sowhat understand how this thought ca across her mind. As she had a knack for writing, Patricia often spend several hours a day writing down her imagination.
Her idea probably arises from the fact she always suffered from physical strains when writing her manuscript for a long period of ti.
Writing with a quill and ink can be taxing on her fingers, wrist, and arm which led to inconsistency in letter and spacing. Consequently, her writing speed is also decreased significantly, affecting her productivity and efficiency. The ink, often more than not spilt, blotted, or smudge the manuscript, ruining her effort.
Intrigued by his sister's idea, Patrick praised his sister for her fascinating thought. The commonly used quill and ink had many limitations. Without a doubt, such a machine would be revolutionary. The siblings then embarked on an ambitious project to create the world's first writing machine as they called it.
"What do you have in mind, Patricia?" asked Patrick, ready to jot down her idea in his notebook.
"Hmm." Patricia struggles to express her idea, "We'll need tal bars with carved letters that can be pressed onto the paper. You know, sothing like the printing press."
She furrowed her brow, realizing that her words hadn't co out as she had intended. Patricia looks at her brother, hoping he understood her words.
"I know what you ant," Patrick nods, his mind racing with possibilities. "We can build a set of levers and springs that will enable us to press the keys and move the typebars forward to strike the paper."
His hand move smoothly as he transferred the verbal idea into a picturized concept. "By connecting the keys to the levers and then to the typebars, it will move the corresponding typebar forward and create the letter on the paper whenever the key was pressed."
"But, how will the ink get onto the paper?"
"Hmm..." Patrick's brain worked at full capacity as he racked his mind for a solution to the problem. He recalled learning about the use of ink balls in conjunction with printing presses at school.
A spark of creativity ignited, causing him to consider applying a similar concept to the typing machine. "How about we'll put an absorbent material like a fabric strip coated with ink between the typebars and the paper? When a key is pressed, it will move the corresponding typebar forward, and the letter on the end of the typebar will strike against the ribbon and transfer the ink onto the paper, creating the letter."
"Oh! As expected of you, Patrick." Patricia's eyes lit up with excitent. She adds, "Let's make them a consumable component that needs to be replaced or re-inked periodically to ensure a fresh supply of ink for printing."
Patrick grinned, "Nice idea! That way, we can keep people continuously spending money. Also, we'll need to create a carriage that can hold the paper in place and move it as we type. We can attach the carriage to the fra and make it adjustable so that we can position the paper accurately."
"Don't forget to design a chanism that can control the spacing between lines and adjust the margins. Imagine when writing a novel, the paper moves down on its own by a certain amount after each line is typed. Ahh!! How easy my life would be..."
Patrick frowned, feeling the difficulty increase by several folds. "It won't be easy."
Patricia placed a hand on his shoulder, her voice reassuring. "You're a genius, Patrick. I have no doubt you can figure it out."
"Don't dump everything on . You need to help as well. We're in this together." Patrick implored. He then moves his quill fluidly, letting his rough image of the device flow on paper. Before he diving deeper into working on the principle, it is nice to have so sort of picture as a reference.
Patricia's curiosity was piqued as she caught a glimpse of the sketch her brother was working on. "Woah!" Her eyes widened in admiration, "You're not just a genius but also a talented artist." There's a tinge of jealousy in her voice.
"No need to feel jealous of Patricia. Do I need to remind you how many 10 years old kids manage to publish their books and have their own inco?"
"Hehe~"
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