Of the Past and Present

So, I just read what I wrote last night. I have several things to say on the matter.

First, I wanted to acknowledge the fact that I somehow neglected to mention the whole Osama Bin Laden business, so I’ll throw that in right now: he’s dead (sorry, I should have put a spoiler-warning) and that’s making everyone exceptionally happy. Except for the people who are “armchair generals” as my step-dad puts it, who are all upset because the military should have done this or that instead of what they did. Either way, I’m getting a bit tired of hearing about it.

My next order of business is to address that story I wrote for the first day of Story a Day May (for details, go to http://storyaday.org/). I’m not going to bother defending it, but I wanted to point out that I managed to not mention the character’s gender. She is a girl. Sorry for forgetting that little detail… Sadly enough, it isn’t the first time it’s happened. I once wrote something on a website and somebody commented on it with something like, “Hey, I like it. It’s pretty interesting. The main character is a girl, though, right?” I would like to apologize for any confusion.

Also, the story wasn’t any good. Sorry about that. It occurs to me that nothing actually happened in it. A lady washed some wool, another lady knitted a shawl, and a girl was a bit rude to her socially awkward mother. I’m sorry for the lack of plot.

Well, it’s time for me to move on to a new story, I suppose. I’ll think of something eventually… Until then, this won’t be posted anyways, so it hardly matters.

…Okay, I wrote the above many hours ago, and I still haven’t woven a story for today. I am tempted to write my drum major audition essay in lieu of a story, but that would be totally cheating. That being said, I will instead pen the epic tragedy (epic in the figurative sense, not the literal; the same goes for pen) of a journal in the rain.

The boy was hardly at fault, though one couldn’t say he should take no blame.

If he had been more careful, or less troublesome, all would have gone well for the book. It didn’t, though. The kid was stupid; he started something that he couldn’t have finished, and, being chased by boys who were several years his seniors, he had lost some of the contents of his backpack.

Most of what was gone had been insignificant garbage, stuff that should have been thrown out long ago, anyways. Old assignments flew like confetti from his canvas knapsack, scattering on the wind and mingling with the birds.

One small belonging, however, would not fly for its heaviness. This was a leather-bound book filled with the messy penmanship of a nine-year-old boy. It wasn’t a notebook; those were easily replaceable and quite worthless. No, this was the very unique journal of a young, confused kid, who would someday need desperately to hold his childhood close to him, to cling to that last shred of innocence, and he would never be able to.

He would get over it just the same, but a journal is an important lifeline and should never be taken for granted. Keep your cherished thoughts closest to your heart and you will go far.


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