Antoine's Curious Collection of Arbitrary Short Stories

Typewriter

On my 18th birthday my grandmother gave me a typewriter as a gift. She said that she knows that I have so much to say in my mind and that this is the best she could ever give to me. I found it strange because I don't write nor have a writer within me. The truth is: I'm not familiar with words. It is actually one of my greatest troubles. I don't know how to pick them, and when to use them.

I find it hard to sort out things to say that sometimes I just choose the comfort of silence. I find it admirable for people who can easily express themselves and wish that I could do that too just like them. What would it be like to be able to speak yourself? I guess it's very liberating; being able to free your thoughts with words. It must be nice to live a life without being misunderstood...

Maybe that's the reason why she gave it to me. Maybe, she can understand silence after all. Maybe.

A typewriter, huh? Grandma has a humorous way of thinking.

"Free your mind to see the magical world of words," I read the card inside its box.

I smiled with the eccentricity of my grandmother. I remembered she said how this typewriter can write my thoughts on its own and that I could no longer worry myself in controlling it. If only it could. To have your thoughts recorded on its own would make the world filled with unspoken words; a library of the unvoiced; the unspoken books and stories.

Could others read those words too? When in silence they have already failed to be understood...Maybe or maybe not.