Hey guys,
So a couple of years ago I wrote this story, it was for a competition at
school (I got third place!) and I thought I would share it with you. The basic
idea was that we could write whatever we wanted about whoever, but it had to
contain the phrase 'And with that, I picked up my pen and I began to write'. I
am by no means a good writer but I would appreciate feedback. I thought I would
post more stories and things I have written over the years because I never
really show people what I write and a couple of my friends wanted to see what
goes on inside my head when I do sit down and scribble in various notebooks, so
without further ado, here is the first of my stories.
Immortal Words
It was raining, as usual, and as I sat by the window I looked out and
traced the raindrops as they slid down the glass, clouding the world from me.
For all I knew, it had ceased to exist. And in that moment I began to think; I
thought about how the world passes us by every day turning, turning. Always
turning in the black void of space, so old and rigid on her axis. Constantly
moving forwards and never looking back. And I thought that our lives are a mere
speck on the face of our planet. We are born, we live, we love and we die.
She would not remember us, how could
she? There are hundreds of countries filled with billions of humans, how would
she remember each and every one of us. We all pass so quickly; people move in
and out of our own lives daily and we never look twice - they are simply there
one minute and gone the next. A simple hello could have started millions of
possibilities and yet we never remember their faces, we never get to know them
and we never stop to look at anything other than what concerns ourselves. Each
of us are too busy occupying our own tiny little worlds to stop and think about
the consequences of that person being in our lives or us in theirs. We are like
the rain, running down the smooth glass at an unstoppable pace, weaving through
the trails of people that have been before but never stopping, always running,
always.
And with that, I picked up my pen and I
began to write.
I wrote about all those I had known, all those I had forgotten and all
those I had yet to know. My dreams and hopes all poured onto the paper in front
of me. Every laugh, love and smile were immortalised, a colourful reminder of
the past in a world full of grey. And it is my gift to you, every time the rain
clouds your vision of the colours of the world read my story and feel the
colour return. This story is who I am, it is what has defined me, what has
moulded me, what has turned me into who I am today. And when I am gone, my
loved ones will remember me by my story. When they and all those who knew me
are gone, my story will be the only thing of me that will remain. My body
cannot live forever, but my words and my memory are immortal. You remember a person, not by
their face or the sound of their voice. But by their deeds, what they did and
how they did it. These things form our story. And in the end we are all
stories, so let’s make it a good one.
Xxx
