Not just a dream...
The following is a personal experience of mine, slightly controversial---depending on where you stand in the moral values department---and a great prompt for anyone easily mused... I allow anyone to create a story based on this!!! I could tell you about myself, here is a brief introduction. You can call me Tash, here is my brief bio:
Writing has been a lifelong passion, hobby, devotion and escape. It used to be my secret hiding place, where I could vent after crying my tears on my pillow every night after school. Books and stories were my friends. I had no friends as a child, after confiding my lonesome sorrows to my father, he told me “Books. Books will be your best friend, you’re never alone with a good book”. The characters in my stories became real friends to me, the places in the stories I wrote gave me somewhere to go when I wished I could leave my little town. It grew to become a part of me, something I just cannot walk away from. It’s who I am.
If you wake up in the morning and you can't think of nothing but writing... then you're a writer.
Here is a page from one my diaries...
THE UNSPEAKABLE LETTER
You came to me at a time of turmoil.
Take it or leave it... it's something I felt I'd share, right off the bat!
I had wished for you, wanted you, the way a child wishes for a baby brother brought by the stork.
When I found out, July 15th, five years ago as I write these words, at 10:16 at night, staring in disbelief at the white plastic stick with two glowing pink lines that stuck out to me and made me numb, made me ache, made me choke.
Both pink lines flashing like a yellow light about to turn red, I suddenly became very still. My hand shook, my heart dropped. I didn't want to believe it.
I'd heard it happened, seen countless movies with actresses brilliantly playing their parts, making you think "What if that was me?"
Twenty-thousand thoughts raced, fifty-miles per second, like a freight train with faulty breaks. That very minute, my childhood was over. I dropped the white plastic stick. Staring at the walls, a wave of desperation swarmed over me.I'm keeping it... It grows inside me.
The magical spark of life that he and I had ignited... That night where the new life I'd chosen for myself crumbled... That night I'd had to leave, that I'd never see him again and I was careless. I'd wanted to feel all of him, keep a part of him with me when I'd leave.
I surrendered, body, soul, mind, and everything else I didn't even know I could surrender...He wasn't supposed to be able to have kids. I had no concept of conception and thought I'd get away with it... That night, though, I had looked in his eyes and secretly wished to bear his child.
A part of him and me. Of us.However, as I was back in the bedroom where I used to be a child, I kept still. Unable to hear or feel a single thing.
Then, I broke down and cried all my tears, hacking sobs. I felt so alone yet inside the pearl I could come to carry reminded me I was no longer alone. When I was able to breathe again, when the shock faded---like a blanket gently pulled away from the top of my head---I took a long breath and swallowed hard.
For the first time in my life, I would have to make a decision.
[ 10:38 ] [ 2008-May-6 ] [ Post Comment ]