Birthday on The Moon

First Edit, Part 1

Everyone knows that the moon is made of cheese, what people don't think about what does the cheese taste like? Soft and gentle like cheddar, stinky and strong like camembert or bland and proud like a Jarlsberg. Some people dream about going to the moon and having adventures across time and space, but Adrian had simpler dreams until his 13th birthday.

Adrian wanted to be a typical young boy, staying in school and sticking to his studies, that helped keep nonsense ideas of chasing dragons, travelling to foreign lands or traversing across vast seas at bay- as he was brought up to think. Choosing instead to sit alone to read his books and work on his homework. The sense of adventure put off of going outside and into the seemingly dangerous world. He would be the first to admit that studying was somewhat boring, but the last to admit that adventure was exciting, that is what others thought he would say. Little did he understand about himself that all it took was a nudge in the right direction to spur him into action.

With the light of the summer approaching and his 13th birthday on the horizon, Adrian was arriving home from school- his heavy backpack stuffed with books from history, science and English. The shoes are worn out from the carpet in the library and not familiar with the smell of grass as his trousers were only creased and wrinkled from the desks and silence. Topics ranging from ancient Man, chemistry, biology and even English grammar battled through his mind - an endless pit of knowledge. A quenchable thirst to know one more answer. He liked history, especially ancient Egypt but did not disruptions. With his birthday approaching he wanted to do something special, but what to do, he thought, that was the dominating through that squeezed out all the other questions from his mind as he stepped inside.

"What are you learning about now?" his diligent mother asks as he steps into the front door, she was always attending something or someone. Her caring hands attending to a choir or task.

"Egyptian history," said Adrian bluntly, marching upstairs away from the sun-soaked house into his bedroom - his homemade library where all of his curiosity is contained, stored and relaxed ready to tackle his latest conundrum.

"Oh, what about them?" his mother asks, he wanted to answer but they were both too busy to stand for idle chatter.

Rustling the feathers were never the right thing to do in the family; it was considered rude and impertinent.

"Adventures get your clothes dirty, risk tearing your trousers and make you late for breakfast, don't you know?" they would say.

Adrian did not know how to admit it, but all these adventures he read in his books were only a microcosm of what he wanted but did not know how to achieve his own heroic tale. This family lesson was drilled into him from a young boy yet he wanted more than just books as he sat stooped in his bedroom, with only the light bulb and rustle of paper to keep him company. He was content to learn but that was not the same compared to what Alexander the Great did, as he conquered the known world or Hannibal as he made the ancient Romans shiver and quake. The danger and thrill called as it lit up a hunger and stoked a craving within him.

"Better safe, than sorry," his father would occasionally reiterate from his armchair, lecturing the boy about the hazard, risk and menace the world posed.

"Better to read about them - books are safer anyway" his mother often said, "stay in school," always reminding him of the best intentions. But the rumble of rebellion always beat like a drum in his core, following a radial rhythm.

Excelling at school, as he is smart but not tenacious, not even rocking the boat at school, following his parents' advice of studying hard and striving to for a job afterwards. The middle-class life in suburbia is what was drilled into him. Adventure and stepping out of the norms would shatter that dream and they knew it. He wanted adventure but did not know how to ask for or recognise it.

His best friend was his dog, Woody, the only source of real fun he had, not just rolling around in the park but scouring through the woods, over hills and through shrubs, pretending he was Robin Hood when he got the chance to let his imagination loose. Coming back home tracing mud and ruining the freshly steamed carpet, much to his parents' annoyance. He wanted a fun, not homework. Excitement, not tedious tasks. He wanted to stretch his wings and see what was beyond the horizon. What could be in the next town he often wondered and even if I go there, what would I do? He would then reason as each adventure could become boring if it was not careful, reigning in his own aspirations and dreams.