My Story So Far

Reads: 405  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a true story of my life so far...

Submitted: December 05, 2014

A A A | A A A

Submitted: December 05, 2014

A A A

A A A



His Life

A young man sits in his darkened room, isolated from the outside world by more than just the walls around him. He sits here in a silence, even within himself. Unlike any silence he'd ever felt before, it radiates from him in gentle waves, so even the scratching of his pen upon the paper before him seems muted. He writes slowly, unsure of where to begin writing this new story. All he knows for certain is that this story must be written. Despite the darkness of his room, the darkness inside himself is the deepest. It has never seen a light, never felt the soft caress of another's love. It has been untouched for long years, made longer by his own thoughts. It sits within him, writhing, twisting and turning upon itself life a great mass of snakes. Through the darkness slips thought after thought, his story coming to life unhurriedly as he knows this story will take time, it will take more effort than any before it, but he also knows it will be worth it. So he writes...

"I'm unsure how to really start this story so I suppose it is best to start at the begining of everything, so many years ago. That time is mostly shadow as I was young and did not know to remember it, so I will tell you what I do know. I know that in the past I was a quiet child, so quiet in fact that on a few accounts my mother completely lost track of me. I do not mind this for I have always prefered solitude to company, or at least that's what I tell myself. At the time of my birth I was not alone, for beside me in my mother's womb were two others. I cannot recall feeling them there with me, but I know, somehow, that they were. Shortly after my birth it was discovered that I was the only one to survive. Hearing this many years later, struck a cord within me and in some ways contributed to the way I feel and think now. It humbled me. I think sometimes that they gave up their tendrils of life so that I might survive and live on, and they, through me. Perhaps it is just idle fantasy, but I think it nevertheless. As I grew, I stayed the quiet one in our family. My mother also had two other children, one before, and one after myself. The eldest of us three is my brother. The youngest, my sister. Being the eldest, my brother felt that he was wisest and therefore should have our respect, but even though I was the quiet one, I spoke out against this. It earned me nothing but his hands around my neck, his nails digging into my skin. Ever since that time I have kept my mouth shut to everyone and everything. I felt that if no one knew my real feelings, then no one could hurt me with them. I realized that with this, I could turn an uncaring eye to the pain others tried to inflict on me, and it worked. But in time, after so long hiding myself from others, I hid from myself as well. With time I forgot how to truly feel. I forgot what sadness felt like. I forgot anxiety, I forgot pleasure. In time, though I had never felt it, I forgot that which is in all people, in all places...I forgot how to love.The only things I knew how to feel now was anger and hopelessness. Yearning, for things I could never have. As my emotions left me, an ache took their place. An ache like no other."

He here paused and sighed. This story would be much easier than he thought and the words flew from his pen almost without thought...

"This ache drove me to search for something to stop it, but no matter what I tried, it did not cease. With time I abandoned my search and instead became uncaring. In time I learned to put on a mask that displayed emotions I no longer felt within and since the moment I put that mask on it has never failed me. As the years crept on I confided in a few people that I was the way I still am. All they told me was that I was very accepting and wise far beyond my years. I'm not sure that it is the case though. I don't know what it really is, and in truth, I don't really care. Again I fled within myself, learning that no one I knew could be trusted. I knew that they thought I was being funny, and that it was just a phase that I would eventually grow out of. But if this is a phase, it has been a very long one, for it has lasted many years. In time they forgot I had ever approached them, but I did not. Soon I stopped going out. I barely ate. I stayed in my room and let time pass me by as it willed. As I wasted away inside my self-built prison, I took to writing. At first it was something to pass the time, and I wasn't good at it, so eventually, that too I stopped. Until the day I met someone that has since drawn out my ability for expression. Since that day she has nutured me, grown me in ways I thought would never happen. Is I spoke with her, I grew to trust again. As I spoke with her, I felt that maybe, just maybe there were good people out there that I might someday place my trust in. And somewhere in the back of my mind, cradled within unbreakable walls, the possiblity that love might still exist for me stirred. But as all things seemed to do around me, that too stopped. Even as my greatest friend opened me to new things, so did I close myself off to others. As I started to think of some things in a good light, others faded into dark. As my friend helped me out of my shell, bit by bit, I started reaching out on my own. But again, I was disappointed. I withdrew into my own mind and vowed to never reach out again. I lost faith in all but a select few and in time I felt that only they could draw some semblance of a normal human being from the cold thing I had taught myself to be. I lost myself. And while I know it is not a thing to say, even in jest, though this is not, I considered in my worst moments the possibility of taking my own life."

Here he stopped again, another sigh passing his lips as his fingers grasped the pen again...

"Though they can never really know how much I depend on them, still I keep to myself, only ever talking when they speak to me. I know that it is not healthy to keep to myself as I do, but then again, I still cannot bring myself to care. You might ask yourself now, how i can say that after saying that I depend on some people, but you see, they worked their ways under my infallible armors. Somehow they each wormed their way into my heart. Let me tell you what I see my heart as now. I see it as a darkened place, with waterfalls of black slipping down it's sides. I see it from it's bottom, looking up into it's dead trees, standing silent sentinel over a place I feel may never see the light. I see myself before an empty, bottomless hole and I see those blackened falls pout into it. I see myself leaning over it now and again, listening, but never do I hear an echo of those dark waves falling upon something. But still, I cannot bring myself to care. Sure, I may ache for things I feel I'll never have, but that ache is now more a part of me than anything else..."


© Copyright 2020 FourEmbers. All rights reserved.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Add Your Comments:

More Other Short Stories