This is a blog. Story #1

There is a story, a story you’ve never heard before, about a kid who spent 14 years in school to try and learn, to try and figure out who he was, to try and see what his purpose was in the world. And this boy ended up like a lot of the boys like him. He ended up with more questions than answers. He ended up wondering how he was going to grow up, and what it would mean to do something so drastic.

He was an ordinary person, with ordinary grades, and ordinary SAT scores. He lived an ordinary middle-class life, just like all the rest. However, and you knew there would be a however didn’t you, he did have something. He had the ability, the very ordinary ability, to write. He wrote poetry, tiny little snippets into his ordinary life. They used things like metaphors, and similes; illustrating ideas using the only tool he had, words. Words, he thought, are strange, insignificant things, though. They can be as brittle and fragile as dry twigs, they can be as dense as water and slip through the holes; the white in the middle of the “o”. In a way, he despised words and their seeming uselessness. He figured nobody cared about them, that they were a dying race. They had been doomed to begin with.

Still, day after day, words stayed on his mind. Every day, even if he had not written, he would think about how he had not written. And when he was writing, he was thinking about how strange it was that he was writing. He would write stories about other boys, ordinary like him, and they would be in large open fields of tall grass, or dark immense forests where the leaves of the trees blotted out the bright blue sky.

In a way, he wanted to share these stories with the world, to let people see them, to let people see… him. He was scared of people though, he was scared of a lot of things. Sometimes he was scared of being honest about things, sometimes he was scared of lying about the exact same things. Perhaps saying that nobody wanted to see his writing was his way of staying trapped in that Fear. Because Fear can be a pleasant thing sometimes. Fear is predictable and it doesn’t ask very much of a person. Ex. Fear doesn’t want you to go bungee jumping, so you don’t; that’s easy, you just don’t.

And the more he got to know Fear, the more he joined Fear’s side. And eventually it seemed as though he despised the things he Feared, his Fear’s enemies became his own. They were like two brazen heroes, standing mighty in the wind, capes flapping behind them like flags, declaring their power. And so being afraid of something became equivalent to hating it. And the first villain that stood in their way, as he and Fear stood side by side flooded in dramatic light, was Bravery.

He hated Bravery, and he knew that Fear hated it too. He felt like writing would be the Brave thing to do, because being Brave is all about doing things you don’t want to do. But he also knew that being Brave was important, because we all love Brave people. We throw ourselves at the feet and the mercy of the great Brave people in the world, because being Brave is not ordinary. It is a strange thing to do, we think, to do something Brave; to run into the burning house to save the crying baby.

But still, day after day, he would continue to want to write, to want to get all of these emotions and Fears and tribulations and troubles out of his head and into the page, in the form of these words which he despised, and he hated it because… it would be the Brave thing to do.

And when he realized this, he stopped for a moment. He realized that Fear actually wasn’t so easy after all. Because his Fear both made him want to write and made him not want to write.

So, one day, after spending many years not writing, and then writing, and then not writing again, he sat down at his computer, and started writing a story about a boy who was afraid of writing. And he knew that there would be a lot of days where he would be afraid to write, but he also knew that he had to keep on doing it anyway, not because it was brave, but because standing next to fear was simply too scary.

Posted in Stories by Preston on July 21st, 2010

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