Stories from an Empty Classroom

Personal Narrative (Not as Boring as You Think)

Personal Narrative (Not as Boring as You Think)

Ladies and Gentlemen, skinny and stout, I'll tell you a tale I know nothing about. That is a lie. I know about it. Obviously, or I wouldn't be telling you. My name is (Blank), I go by Ellie, I am (Blank)-years-old, and I am a Worldbuilder.

Now I've confused you, wonderful. Either that or you're interested, I expect you are. You want to know about me, what I am, what I do, why I do, where I do, when I do, who I do. No one, I do no one. But these things, what you want to know, are called knowledge. Knowledge that I have, and you don't. Knowledge that gives me power...over you. Technically. I don't typically abuse power, but my occupation is confusing to most. And that's okay, most people don't want to know. But you do, you're still here. Now you've confused me.

This world that we live in is full of a whole ton of crap. Nobody likes anybody and everybody is on opposite sides of an argument that is supposedly complicated and controversial when really, everything has a simple answer. It's just, no one wants to listen to it. Yes, that's right, an answer to all your problems. It's called 'listen to the children', you blasted adults. No, instead they argue over our heads, shout at us, and lie to themselves. Well, guess what? I can do that too! I'm the kind of person who sits quietly when we go out with others or who walks behind the group on the two-person sidewalks or who hides in her room when we have guests. I am far more versed in lying to myself than you are.

It started in the summer of 2016. I will forever be proud of myself for this. In the summer of 2016, we moved from Jerrabomberra, NSW, Australia to (Blank). We were in the air for twenty-seven hours and, for whatever reason, I was not tired. Or, not as tired as I should've been. We were in the TLF and at five o'clock in the morning I woke up. I was the only one. So, what do you do as the only one awake at five o'clock in the morning? Be a nerd, that's what. I made breakfast, pancakes, for everyone, ate my fill and watched at least five hours worth of a show that I shall not name because of embarrassment. (Aphmau's My Street) I binge-watched all of the show's season two. What does this have to do with knowledge or lying? Well, you'll see.

Okay, so this show was created by a certain Youtuber who you may or may not know and who I may or may not have been obsessed with at the time. I spent hours googling her at the time. There's a point, hold on. One day, months later. I clicked an auto-fill that intrigued me far more than it should've. [Aphmau]-fanfiction. Hmmmmm, seems dangerous, yes let's click the dangerous link. It was one of the worst and best decisions of my life. I clicked on the first pop-up and it brought me to Chapter 1 of Someone's Little Sister by @JustAnotherDream_15, or Grace, on Wattpad. I read the first sentence and I was hooked immediately. Grace could say anything from then on and I would listen. Or, well, read. The way she strung words together in a way that tugged at heartstrings and beat in brains was amazing to me. The way she weaved together this world that acted as a barrier to readers from the cruel stuff of the outside. I'd never been an avid reader before that, but I found interest in some of Grace's book recommendations. And those author's recommendations. And those author's recommendations. And those... Well, you get the idea.

Eventually, I immersed myself in a sea of words, blockaded myself in fortresses of paragraphs, sentences barred the real world from my room. I questioned everything, developed my own view on critical issues and eventually dug my way into a cavern of book fandoms. Here was a collection of people with similar interests as me who had similar problems as me, who thought the same way as me. I loved every second of it. Literally every second. Social media provided me with accurate news and access to movements I'd no idea about, and, arguably most importantly, gave me access to books that were saturated with building materials. I helped build my own cage and I absorbed every single detail of the design. Every flaw in the foundation, every crack in the wall, I studied until I knew how to fix it or came to love it as it was.

Now, some people will call me crazy, say I'm hiding from the world, that I've trapped myself in a collection of minds. Including the most dangerous, my own. You may be inclined to agree, but me? I feel that it set me free. From this terrible version of reality and into worlds and universes where things are perfect or worse or striving to be. It practically saved my life.

What does this have to do with the term 'Worldbuilder,' you ask? Everything. I built myself an empire or words and books and magic and adventure and I was happy. But, selfishly, I wanted more. I wanted to be like the people who helped build my beautiful empire. I wanted to help build someone else's or add to my own. I wanted to show that the world is bad, I wanted to protect others from it, but I also wanted to give my superiors the ability to change it. The keys to their own cage, if you will. Or, how the tools to make the keys, at the very least. That gave me a larger sense of freedom. The first thing that I wrote and was proud of was fanfiction. Not a good example, but it brought to light the mindset of an abused eleven-year-old, how she feels when she disobeys, even though she knows what it is she's doing, the pride she feels when she does something even slightly deserving of praise. I wrote several setting descriptions, words that give the readers the ability to taste the salty air of the beach and see the shimmering ocean as the sun rose, casting large shadows from the smallest of things, hear the sound of the waves kissing the sand, only to be rejected thousands and thousands of times, to feel the grains of warm sand around their feet as the character buried their own into the dunes. I wanted to breathe life to words like I'd seen so many others do.