i've started a story.
keep me encouraged to actually finish this one guys. :[
“We are all born originals. Why is it so many of us die copies?”
-- Edward Young
Ever since we were little, stories and fables have surrounded us. From Little Red Riding Hood to Pandora’s Box there’s a good chance each and every one of us has either been read to or crawled up in a cozy chair and flipped through the pages of a book. It’s so fun to laugh at a character’s stupidity or become caught up in the excitement of the romance affairs of fiction lives. How do the writers do it? How is it that pictures are literally painted into my mind as I comprehend their words and thoughts? It’s a gift, I tell you. Yes, these supernatural beings have been blessed with the gift of magic that allows black ink on processed wood pulp to become a 3-dimmensional world.
I’m a girl with morals. I’ve been raised to understand strutting around half-naked isn’t classy, and getting high to pass the time isn’t cool. I believe in inner beauty. Yes, personal appearances are what seem to get you farther in this day and age but they aren’t what will find the cure for cancer, win the noble prize, or save our country from a nuclear war. Last time I checked, beauty pageant winners aren’t the ones winning the metal of honor for protecting their citizens.
All my teachers have brought it up before at least once; my generation is the generation of selfishness and gluttony. Everyone wants material items and anything owned is compared to the rich and famous. If something isn’t good enough, you toss it away in the garbage to be forgotten or used by someone lower than you. Rather than idolizing famous world leaders, we look up to people who act like a ditz and carry an undersized dog in their oversized purse.
I feel like I’ve been thrown into an alternative reality. I feel like Americans are forgetting who we are and what we stand for. Gouverneur Morris did not just sit down and begin writing the Preamble of the Constitution as "We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union..." because it sounded good. He wrote it for our liberty; he wrote it for our justice. Why are we wasting that? Is there a logical reason why I can look around and see a thousand clones walking around my school? Nobody in this world is the same, so can somebody please tell me why most of us are trying to be alike one another. Can somebody please tell me why we’re so thrilled hearing about somebody else’s life, but too lazy to make our own lives worth hearing about?
Everyone has their own story, and the coolest part? Everyone’s is completely different. Mine is filled to the brim with unbreakable friendship, disappointment, romance, and indescribable hope. I’ve written mine down. I plan on going down in history with a bang. If I live a mediocre lifestyle, I’m not being recognized or being heard. If I live a mediocre lifestyle, what is the point in living at all?
"God places the heaviest burden on those who can carry it's weight"
--Reggie White
Her head softly slams against the tile of the public bathroom. Empty stalls and a drippy faucet are her only accomplices as she sobs. As if sent by God, Breann pushes open the bathroom door to find her best friend and throws her arms around her. She backs up to let her friend breathe; to get some air. “He didn’t come Bree.” Alyssa laughed; pulling the hair away that was matted to her wet cheeks. Breann’s eyes watered.
“I know.” She said quietly. Alyssa continued to cry. Words were not needed, the two girls cried together without background noise.
Eighth grade graduation: the day every middle school kid looks forward to. Everyone dresses up in their nicest dress clothes, and walks up in front of their peers smiling as if it’s the academy award, rather than a diploma they’re receiving. Best part of all? School ends an hour or two early.
“We are all born originals. Why is it so many of us die copies?”
-- Edward Young
Ever since we were little, stories and fables have surrounded us. From Little Red Riding Hood to Pandora’s Box there’s a good chance each and every one of us has either been read to or crawled up in a cozy chair and flipped through the pages of a book. It’s so fun to laugh at a character’s stupidity or become caught up in the excitement of the romance affairs of fiction lives. How do the writers do it? How is it that pictures are literally painted into my mind as I comprehend their words and thoughts? It’s a gift, I tell you. Yes, these supernatural beings have been blessed with the gift of magic that allows black ink on processed wood pulp to become a 3-dimmensional world.
I’m a girl with morals. I’ve been raised to understand strutting around half-naked isn’t classy, and getting high to pass the time isn’t cool. I believe in inner beauty. Yes, personal appearances are what seem to get you farther in this day and age but they aren’t what will find the cure for cancer, win the noble prize, or save our country from a nuclear war. Last time I checked, beauty pageant winners aren’t the ones winning the metal of honor for protecting their citizens.
All my teachers have brought it up before at least once; my generation is the generation of selfishness and gluttony. Everyone wants material items and anything owned is compared to the rich and famous. If something isn’t good enough, you toss it away in the garbage to be forgotten or used by someone lower than you. Rather than idolizing famous world leaders, we look up to people who act like a ditz and carry an undersized dog in their oversized purse.
I feel like I’ve been thrown into an alternative reality. I feel like Americans are forgetting who we are and what we stand for. Gouverneur Morris did not just sit down and begin writing the Preamble of the Constitution as "We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union..." because it sounded good. He wrote it for our liberty; he wrote it for our justice. Why are we wasting that? Is there a logical reason why I can look around and see a thousand clones walking around my school? Nobody in this world is the same, so can somebody please tell me why most of us are trying to be alike one another. Can somebody please tell me why we’re so thrilled hearing about somebody else’s life, but too lazy to make our own lives worth hearing about?
Everyone has their own story, and the coolest part? Everyone’s is completely different. Mine is filled to the brim with unbreakable friendship, disappointment, romance, and indescribable hope. I’ve written mine down. I plan on going down in history with a bang. If I live a mediocre lifestyle, I’m not being recognized or being heard. If I live a mediocre lifestyle, what is the point in living at all?
"God places the heaviest burden on those who can carry it's weight"
--Reggie White
Her head softly slams against the tile of the public bathroom. Empty stalls and a drippy faucet are her only accomplices as she sobs. As if sent by God, Breann pushes open the bathroom door to find her best friend and throws her arms around her. She backs up to let her friend breathe; to get some air. “He didn’t come Bree.” Alyssa laughed; pulling the hair away that was matted to her wet cheeks. Breann’s eyes watered.
“I know.” She said quietly. Alyssa continued to cry. Words were not needed, the two girls cried together without background noise.
Eighth grade graduation: the day every middle school kid looks forward to. Everyone dresses up in their nicest dress clothes, and walks up in front of their peers smiling as if it’s the academy award, rather than a diploma they’re receiving. Best part of all? School ends an hour or two early.