"I lay on the ground, no one else around, on a bench in the cold, god this is getting old. I am out of food and out of cash, I'm living in a park and living off trash. Almost lost my fingers to the winter's cold until I decided to be a bit bold. I used my gift and crafted a flame, it burned so bright but burned so lame. I know I am dying and Im okay with that. I've made my piece, I'm ready to hang my hat. The game is ending but I'll live on, in the lyrics of the world's great, sad song." -journal of Harrison Blake 1957
As Mr. cravitts finished reading the final quote I shivered with a low dread, my mind remembered the exact movements of my pen as I wrote that and breathed my final breath, but why do i remember that? I was lost in a trance like state until I was snapped back to reality when he said: "Okay everyone! With this last quote, I want you to choose your favorite and analyze it over the weekend."
I rolled my eyes and grabbed my bag as my last college class ended for the summer. 'You don't really have to analyze it when you wrote it' I thought, still shaking from the fresh memory. I was almost out of the door when I heard, "Blake? Will you come talk to me for a second?" I turned and walked my slightly annoyed ass to his desk in the front of the classroom.
"Yes Mr. Cravitts?" He didn't look up from a couple of papers he was grading, "I hope you will check out that creative writing program over the summer, you have a real gift for fiction writings." "I don't think I will." Only then he looked up,"And why not?" I sighed, "Because you think I'm always writing fiction." A confused look appeared on his face as I walked away, the same look covered my face too as i thought about what i just said. Why was that my first responce?
A bright sunny day greeted me as i walked out of the 1980s 'modern' building that was my college. A light breeze brushed passed me and tugged on the corners of my red button down.
I walk down the street in the usual fashion; alone and with my earbuds in. My favorite rock song came on and i couldn't help but to strum every note on my air guitar (as if i actually knew how to play). I kept strumming until i walked around the corner and saw some guys coming toward me on the sidewalk. As they passed one of them laughed quietly to himself. 'Well, that's embarrassing,' I thought.
I continued on my way to my appartment and saw that mural again, it was being painted over by a city worker and i felt a twinge of sadness for the colorful work being covered by the white paint on his roller. At least i snapped a pic before this happened, i thought. Then I continued on my way to eat dinner in my apartment. I'm fucking hungry.
