Say Something

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
The prompt : " Say Something"

Submitted: September 25, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 25, 2013



People say some things are easier said then done, but for me it’s easier to do than to say. I have never been one to say much. Half the time my family doesn’t know what I’m engaged in, or where I am because I never tell them.  Three months ago I was chosen to play the lead in my school play Merit o Dam. My parents didn’t find out until they read about it in our towns newspaper. The writer of Merit O Dam had had been invited to a screening of the play, and was impressed with the production. She wrote a review on the performance commenting on the expertise and maturity of the actors, and even devoted a paragraph to me. She singled me out, claiming that I had the potential to make it big. Her words are wasted on me though, simply for the fact that I have no intention to make it big. I truthfully don’t like acting. Its’ simply an activity I do because I’m good at it.


My parents asked me why I didn’t tell them I was in the play; I asked them why I should feel the responsibility too.


The thing I don’t really understand is why people feel the need to be informed about everything and everyone. I’d rather live my life, and let others live theirs. I hate prying eyes, questions stemmed by curiosity, and attention centered on my life. In today’s world people can’t wait to get ahold of information about others. Its like hearing gossip provides people with an emotional high.

There was one time I went to summer camp in the tenth grade, and a coupe of girls were discussing if a girl named Abigail Diehl was sexually promiscuous or a “hoe”. They were intrigued and dying to figure out if she had slept with this boy, or hooked up with another. Their faces contorted into those of hatred and disgust at the possibilities of what she could of done. When they asked me what I thought, I responded that I didn’t care. She was just Abigail Diehl. The girl who played volleyball with auburn hair that reached her waist. Her life didn’t concern me. The girls didn’t seem to like my answer too much, and called me a “ hoe sympathizer.” Whatever that means.


What I do care about are my visits to the forest about 2 miles out from my town. Most of the people at my high school use the forest as a place to throw parties in the cabins that their parents own. The parties always leave behind the residue of regretful memories and drunken nights. Whether it is red cups, alcohol bottles, or different pieces of miscellaneous clothing. Although the forest has become a popular party ground, I have found a special place of my own. It’s a small part of the forest with large boulders surrounding a small pond, just big enough for one person. The water is clear, and the area is hidden by the trees and shrubs that have grown to hide its special treasures. I find myself in this part of the forest a lot, and it tends to be the place where I do most of talking.


Sometimes I like to just lay my head on the ground, and feel the grass prickle against the back of neck. I love gazing at the forest top, and searching through the trees to find an opening into the sky. I find it’s easier to talk out loud here because the things surrounding me are pure, and realistic. Nature doesn’t care about what your doing or who your seeing, nature just stays contempt with itself. It worries about its own motion, and how to adapt to better suit itself. It worries about its place in the world, and how it can help others by helping itself. Nature is not curious, nor is it intrusive. It surrounds you, but doesn’t consume you.


I wish people were the same.

My life and the details around it should not be served on a platter for people to gobble up. My actions are my own, and belong to no one else. My life is not going to suffice as the topic of someone's conversation, the foundation to his or her gossip.


I wish the world would change, but sometimes the things we wish for are easier said than done. 

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