Gentle evening
breeze tickled my ears as I slowly opened the window to watch the night sky. Absolute
darkness prevailed on earth. But the sky was filled with bright moonlight and
twinkling stars that seemed to smile upon me. Yet, I was somewhere between the
two borders where I was neither happy nor depressed.
Every winter has been a great
pain for me. My mother, who is too anxious about my health, had been
restricting my outing during winter since long ago. All those beautiful scenery
covered with snow and making snowman under Christmas trees were just things
that I can see but cannot approach. All the images of other kids were constantly
invoked in my brain and kept poking my conscious desire for going out.
Nonetheless, I did not complain to my mom. Until now, my mom provided me with
numerous moments to enjoy myself; at home, I was always surrounded by enjoyable
books, toys, games, and sometimes magicians and clowns who entertained me with
their little tricks. I was quite satisfied with the fact that I was born under
affluent parents who could support me with everything but one – “freedom”. Some
might wonder why I would be so desperate for such value and I would say that my
photographic memories of “freedom”, which are saved when I see other people who
have control over their lives, inflict inexplicable pain upon me.
True, life is "a bit" comfortable in some ways to me as I can remember anything. But that comfort stole from me the most element of the human mind: creativity. Everything I am asked t odo, I could recall possible extractions from the various materials I have in store at my mental library. I have been intelligent enough to paraphrase and change the wording to sufficiently mark any task mine, but I have never felt that anything was truly my creation. They say that it was the development of education that evolved men to where they are now, but it has made me overly dependent. I am lost in this sea of information to find something truly original.
I felt enervated, with my zeal for true creativity sapped by my mother's extremely vigilant eye on me. Even now, my privileged trait is stealing from me the luxury of rest. At this very moment, memories of spotlights I received five years ago in an interview, questions that required my "creation" are stabbing my brain. Being tortured by the sweetest rest was the difficulty, indeed. Maybe this situation had made difficult for me to be accepted normal in my community. Everyone simply envied my extraordinary talent and I was unfortunately shaped by those unnecessary attentions. Well, these difficulties might sound haughty and extravagant to most people, but sometimes I wish to overcome these matters by simply turning "normal".
"Alex, come downstairs for your supper!"
Not again. My mother's yelling voice suddenly intruded my thinking. I was livid but my mouth was automatically saying approval to her orders.
"Okay mom, I'm on my way!"
Ridiculous. Stupid. I could not think of anything but that I was too compliant to my mother. I didn't know whether I was habitually obedient to my mother or my mouth made unfortunate mistake but as soon as I realized the reality, I became terribly miserable. To others, I was no one but a machine with no emotion or morality.
I needed a change. A change that could make others view me in a totally different perspective. I've never done this before so I didn't know how to make the progress, but I just wanted to show my different side of personality that was original. At that moment, flickering lights from our garden's water fountain was reflected on the window as if it was signaling me to come out. Excitement and irrationality instantly controlled me. Instead of going down the stairs for supper, I was jumping out from the two-story building!
"Alex, where are you? Come down before the supper cools!"
The voice of my mother was dimly fainting behind my back. I ran as fast as I can to disappear from the sight of the house. Freezing cold paralyzed my body and a fierce gale greeted me in unwelcoming tone. Without a jacket, my physical body could not stand any more encountering this cold but my soul felt warm and powerful as it was liberated from the former environment.
I strolled through the wood that was near my hose. There, I was neither an abnormal boy nor a machine-like man with no human emotions. There, I was a truly unique entity. No living speices there didn't care about me but I liked the way they treated me. Again I looked up at the sky to watch the stars. The appearance did not change from what I've seen from the window sill of my room. But this time it was different. I could smile back at the twinkling stars with easiness
True, life is "a bit" comfortable in some ways to me as I can remember anything. But that comfort stole from me the most element of the human mind: creativity. Everything I am asked t odo, I could recall possible extractions from the various materials I have in store at my mental library. I have been intelligent enough to paraphrase and change the wording to sufficiently mark any task mine, but I have never felt that anything was truly my creation. They say that it was the development of education that evolved men to where they are now, but it has made me overly dependent. I am lost in this sea of information to find something truly original.
I felt enervated, with my zeal for true creativity sapped by my mother's extremely vigilant eye on me. Even now, my privileged trait is stealing from me the luxury of rest. At this very moment, memories of spotlights I received five years ago in an interview, questions that required my "creation" are stabbing my brain. Being tortured by the sweetest rest was the difficulty, indeed. Maybe this situation had made difficult for me to be accepted normal in my community. Everyone simply envied my extraordinary talent and I was unfortunately shaped by those unnecessary attentions. Well, these difficulties might sound haughty and extravagant to most people, but sometimes I wish to overcome these matters by simply turning "normal".
"Alex, come downstairs for your supper!"
Not again. My mother's yelling voice suddenly intruded my thinking. I was livid but my mouth was automatically saying approval to her orders.
"Okay mom, I'm on my way!"
Ridiculous. Stupid. I could not think of anything but that I was too compliant to my mother. I didn't know whether I was habitually obedient to my mother or my mouth made unfortunate mistake but as soon as I realized the reality, I became terribly miserable. To others, I was no one but a machine with no emotion or morality.
I needed a change. A change that could make others view me in a totally different perspective. I've never done this before so I didn't know how to make the progress, but I just wanted to show my different side of personality that was original. At that moment, flickering lights from our garden's water fountain was reflected on the window as if it was signaling me to come out. Excitement and irrationality instantly controlled me. Instead of going down the stairs for supper, I was jumping out from the two-story building!
"Alex, where are you? Come down before the supper cools!"
The voice of my mother was dimly fainting behind my back. I ran as fast as I can to disappear from the sight of the house. Freezing cold paralyzed my body and a fierce gale greeted me in unwelcoming tone. Without a jacket, my physical body could not stand any more encountering this cold but my soul felt warm and powerful as it was liberated from the former environment.
I strolled through the wood that was near my hose. There, I was neither an abnormal boy nor a machine-like man with no human emotions. There, I was a truly unique entity. No living speices there didn't care about me but I liked the way they treated me. Again I looked up at the sky to watch the stars. The appearance did not change from what I've seen from the window sill of my room. But this time it was different. I could smile back at the twinkling stars with easiness
Very well written, despite being very late. But is it metafiction? What we have here is just a single layer of narrative, where the stuff we produced in class is merely adding to the thoughts of the character within his head. Maybe I misread it, but I don't identify any other layer. To fix that? Have Alex writing a letter to his parents, and then have him run away.
ReplyDeleteIN any case, the thoughts you offer through his voice are deep, well written, and flowing.