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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is my first story about the life and thoughts of a young child. Nothing fancy but interesting none the less.

Submitted: March 22, 2013

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Submitted: March 22, 2013




“You know, today is the tomorrow I worried about yesterday. Strangely though, I’m still worried that things won’t get better.” This was coming from a boy called Dylan who was no older than sixteen. This was a troubled young man whose home life would be alright to a lot of other kids who weren’t in his situation. Dylan’s parents where both very depressed as children and his mother was quite anxious and the whole load of these unkind conditions where passed down genetically and made life unpleasant for him and those close by. Dylan spent most of his time after school home playing games where he was one of the last people with brain power standing. Indeed he was sadder than before, but somehow he was happy. Happy enough to give tomorrow another shot even though he feared what came the next day.

Of every boy and girl he could see, he could only find one friend. But this friend was not just a friend. This was a friend who you could call up and say “There’s a bugler on the roof.” (There is trouble), and he would be there in a flash.  This was Dylan’s one best friend. Logan was a friend to end. He was the one person who wasn’t a therapist or counselor that finally would understand him, and Dylan was able to return the favor. Logan had a very difficult childhood. His parents gone at a young age and this made the depressed. He got very depressed and became suicidal. He was placed in a hospital for a few weeks and during this time Dylan was lost in his own thoughts.

He was such a bright young boy that it was silently sad that this was happening to him of all people. His mind, feeling at such a low point, became crusted with many statements such as, “The road to successes is always under construction” or “Whenever I find the key to success, someone changes the lock.” This soon became his whole thinking process. He looked sadly around his bedroom. He considered all the things he had. He looked at his bed, computer, and other small extravagant things. He thought about all the things others had that he didn’t. Only one word came to mind however. Love. Dylan had no girlfriend and no connection of any kind between his parents.  Maybe this is what he wanted over the years. He couldn’t see himself with any type of partner and dropped the subject.

The strangest thing was not how much he put himself down, but how long he could last. His logic was “It is not worth the small moment of peace at the cost of life. He wouldn’t kill himself; he would just make himself sadder. Believe me that he hated being depressed. The mere thought of it sent him spiraling downwards back into some crazy questions.

School was worse. This school didn’t have bad bullies. People just called each other names in the hallways and spelled some curse words or pictures on the bathroom walls. Dylan still didn’t like it. It was seven hours of be surrounded by people with no escape. His anxiety didn’t usually break out but he feared it would and when he thought that, he would panic. If anyone tried to assist him in the slightest way, he would just ask them one question. One question that blew their mind so badly that they understood someone who they never knew existed.  This question made them think who they were and what path they could take to become this person. The people who they would see along that path, good or bad who they would meet, they saw. Dylan asked this to himself all the time. He saw no plans ahead for him. Just sadness. A cold, sadness that would put him where is one friend was this week. The next day no one saw him. Not the school or the parents, who became worried of what had happen to a boy in his state, could or ever will find him. He was leaving this place called home. But he wanted to see a face one more time. A face that he would remember and look for kindness such as that where ever he went. He found himself looking into a window, a window of hope.  Though this window of hope he saw a boy who he met long ago. He walked up to him, set his hand on the glass and looked away to his desk. He wrote seventeen little words that he asked people all the time.

“Do I turn left, when nothing is right? Or do I turn right, when there’s nothing left?”

© Copyright 2017 Spnasrettub G. All rights reserved.

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