I am the type of person who keeps every scrap of paper I’ve ever marked on. I have bins full of stories I wrote when I was a kid in the garage.
I found a single piece of notebook paper in my room nestled in a bag with my unfinished “paper people” (read about them here).
Here’s what was written on it:
The sky was as gray and empty as I imagined space to be. No one could imagine the dullness of the landscape unless they happened to be there, too, that day looking across the flat land and peering up at the gloomy darkness above. I felt a sensation of fear and sadness as I remembered I was all alone and lost. The name of the land where I was I didn’t know, I had no idea of where I was heading either. So I walked.
My dark, dark hair whipped against my neck as the wind started blowing around searching for something to fell. A few times I lost my balance, the wind was so strong. Every time I felt like resting I would remember Daniel, my dear brother, alone as I was.
“I must find him,” I whispered as if crying out would only make my journey harder.
By the time I reached a tree the wind was less severe and the sun was coming out. I sat in the tree’s shade. It wasn’t a big tree, only 8 feet tall or so, but it would do for me. I could lean on it and rest for a wink or so and then I would trek for Daniel again.
I fell into a deep sleep in a matter of minutes. Dreams started to filter in and I envisioned little Daniel, maybe still as a little tike, trying to touch the fire without being burnt. In my dream I ran to him and scolded him for thinking of doing such a thing.
“No, no!” I said.
But Daniel persisted and finally the fire bit him. Then it started to burn all around him. Fire was everywhere. I tried to save him, but I couldn’t. He cried and cried, but there was nothing I could do. When Daniel began to get scorched I couldn’t take it anymore. I woke up.
Sweating I looked around. It was night. Even though I knew I ought to go back to sleep the dream troubled me so much that I had to go and search for Daniel. Who knew what might have befallen him? So walking in the thick darkness of the night I stumbled over rocks, and over logs, and over my own feet sometimes. Then I stumbled over a man. Or what appeared to be a man. It was tall with a long coat and in the dark what appeared to be a beard. I was about to try to escape when it stopped me.
“Child,” it called, “come, come child.” Then I realized something very strange. The voice wasn’t that of a man, or boy, but instead it was a woman’s voice. The voice belonged to my mother.
I must’ve written this when I was reading all of the “A Series of Unfortunate Events” books. Those were my books!
What do you think about this story. My writing on the paper ends abruptly after saying “Mother couldn’t recognize”… Should I continue the story or keep it as is? Place your vote with your comment below.