Post by nextloststar15 on Aug 5, 2007 23:43:42 GMT -5
hey guys! I wrote a short story called "in a nutshell" and I am entering it in a local contest. I realize I am not profssional writer and have a slim chance of winning anything, but thought it might be a fun thing to do. So I have posted my short story here to see what you guys think. I also realize that I might have made some gramatical errors or may have missed something as wrote it,so I am open to all criticisms. I hope you enjoy my story.
In a nutshell
Life, a simple four letter word with a meaning unknown. If a simple word can stump even the smartest of people, how will we ever find satisfaction?
I sit and ponder this for a long while. With the sun brighter than ever, and the various birds singing louder than a train, no one can ever expect to find such a complicated answer. Knowing that I probably never would, I stopped thinking.
Today I find myself in the middle of a public park in Poughkeepsie sitting on an old wooden bench. The same old wooden bench I have been coming to every day for the past month and a half. I like this particular bench not only because it is so comfortable, but also because every day I see new people with new intentions and personalities. Every day, very different people either walk by me or sit next to me on the bench. It interests me that there are so many different people in the world.
Today a woman, around 50 years old sat down next to me and did nothing but stare for an hour. Only when she left she opened her mouth. She got up and turned her head to me and said”Say hi to Henry for me, will you?”
I did not respond. I didn’t know how to. I wasn’t sure she would even hear me; But even without a response, she smiled and walked away.
Every day I see couples walk by. Some with children, some holding hands, some laughing, and once I even saw a guy propose to his girlfriend right in front of me. She said yes. It made me wish that I was not alone. But I am, and I accept that.
Life to me is all about the acceptance of things. Like if your best friend gets married, you have to accept the fact that he or she may not always be around to hang out like they were before. Accept it and life goes on, deny it and life gets too complicated. This to me is life in a nutshell, more or less.
Today was no different than any other. The trees sway back and forth as if they were dancing to an unknown rhythm. Birds flew from one tree to another with ease, and squirrels chased each other around the maple tree that sat to the left of me. I watched in amazement as they jump from tree branch to tree branch, and for some reason I felt the longing to be up there with them. Maybe then I would understand life. Maybe squirrels already have the answer to the question everyone wants to know. Maybe they have already figured it out, and instead, now live there lives having fun and chasing each other.
My vision of my limbs magically being transformed into that of a squirrels was suddenly cut short when a fat man threw himself angrily onto the bench. My bench.
His nose was rounded and had an oddly placed freckle on the very tip of it. He was not wearing a hat, which was unusual to me because people who are going bald often do. The rest of his apparel was as normal as any fat balding man, with the exception of the hat of course; which was a white t-shirt to cover his stomach and blue jeans.
He was currently yelling into his cell phone in which his pudgy right hand was holding up to his mouth like a walkie talkie. His anger puzzled me. He was yelling loud enough for the world to hear, making it difficult to make out what he was saying. He didn’t even care to hear what the person on the other end of the phone had to say; hence making it a speech, not an argument. This disgusted me. So I left. I stood up slowly, my legs aching from sitting for so long, and started my journey home. Any man who speaks alone shall be alone.
The mans voice slowly faded as our distance became greater. With every step, an anger started to slowly build. The anger was not directed at the man, but the arrogance he wore with pride. Even though I knew that people were naturally arrogant creatures, I could not help to think that some people more than others, embrace it. They wear it like a cold man wears a coat, afraid to take it off in fear they might show a little skin.
No more anger, the voice is gone.
My footsteps are light and make no sound as they hit the ground beneath me. All around I see more people; men, women, children. All of them in their own little world. A boy playing catch with his father, a mother holding her daughter as she crosses the monkey bars. All of them playing their part in life, like some sort of game.
The exit to the park is only steps away. Only then do I realize the sun is no longer as bright as it was. It will be dark soon, and I should get home.
My house is not far from the park, probably not even a mile. There is no sidewalk in the direction in which I am headed, so I stick to the edge of the road where asphalt meets the grass of other people lawns. My walk is simple, I just keep walking until I reach a dead end. My house is the one right before the road turns into a circle. It’s an old house, probably a bit older than the ones that surround it; making it that much easier for me to point out which house is mine. My walk home is like a sleep walk to me. I’ve done it so many times that once I have reached my house I barely even remember walking home at all. Even today, I was so lost in thought, that until I reached the door, I simply forgot I was walking home.
The door opened and I entered the living room. I shut the door quietly and stood there for a second. I don’t know why I did, but maybe I thought today would be different. Maybe I thought that I would not be able to here my mother crying upstairs in her room. I was wrong, today was no different than any other.
When your mother cries, you get a certain feeling. A feeling everyone knows as love. This love is different than the kind you feel towards someone. This is the kind that you feel for someone. There is a difference, if you feel love towards someone they may not love you back. If you feel love for someone, you know they love you back and cant help to feel what they feel. If they are sad, you are sad. If you feel love for someone, you know what I mean.
I automatically head up the stairs where my mom is crying in her room. My feet make the boards of each step creak, the biggest creak of all being the one when I reach the top of the stairs.
Her room is the one all they way down the hall to the right. I slowly move down the hall towards the bedroom. The hallway is littered with paintings from various artists, hardly any of the white wall shows beneath them.
The door is halfway open and I stand in the doorway just looking at my mother. Her eyes closed tight and tears rolling down her checks. She sits on the edge of her bed still sobbing. Her hands clutched tightly around a photo pressed against her chest. She is alone. I would like to help her, and calm her down, and tell everything is okay and that I’m right here, tell her that she needs to accept it and move on.
I need to accept it to move on, but I think that’s what the problem has been lately. I don’t want to accept it, I don’t want to move on, but something tells me that now is the time to do precisely that.
I would like to tell her all these things, but she would not hear me, for I am alone, I am dead.
I think I’ll say hi to Henry now
In a nutshell
Life, a simple four letter word with a meaning unknown. If a simple word can stump even the smartest of people, how will we ever find satisfaction?
I sit and ponder this for a long while. With the sun brighter than ever, and the various birds singing louder than a train, no one can ever expect to find such a complicated answer. Knowing that I probably never would, I stopped thinking.
Today I find myself in the middle of a public park in Poughkeepsie sitting on an old wooden bench. The same old wooden bench I have been coming to every day for the past month and a half. I like this particular bench not only because it is so comfortable, but also because every day I see new people with new intentions and personalities. Every day, very different people either walk by me or sit next to me on the bench. It interests me that there are so many different people in the world.
Today a woman, around 50 years old sat down next to me and did nothing but stare for an hour. Only when she left she opened her mouth. She got up and turned her head to me and said”Say hi to Henry for me, will you?”
I did not respond. I didn’t know how to. I wasn’t sure she would even hear me; But even without a response, she smiled and walked away.
Every day I see couples walk by. Some with children, some holding hands, some laughing, and once I even saw a guy propose to his girlfriend right in front of me. She said yes. It made me wish that I was not alone. But I am, and I accept that.
Life to me is all about the acceptance of things. Like if your best friend gets married, you have to accept the fact that he or she may not always be around to hang out like they were before. Accept it and life goes on, deny it and life gets too complicated. This to me is life in a nutshell, more or less.
Today was no different than any other. The trees sway back and forth as if they were dancing to an unknown rhythm. Birds flew from one tree to another with ease, and squirrels chased each other around the maple tree that sat to the left of me. I watched in amazement as they jump from tree branch to tree branch, and for some reason I felt the longing to be up there with them. Maybe then I would understand life. Maybe squirrels already have the answer to the question everyone wants to know. Maybe they have already figured it out, and instead, now live there lives having fun and chasing each other.
My vision of my limbs magically being transformed into that of a squirrels was suddenly cut short when a fat man threw himself angrily onto the bench. My bench.
His nose was rounded and had an oddly placed freckle on the very tip of it. He was not wearing a hat, which was unusual to me because people who are going bald often do. The rest of his apparel was as normal as any fat balding man, with the exception of the hat of course; which was a white t-shirt to cover his stomach and blue jeans.
He was currently yelling into his cell phone in which his pudgy right hand was holding up to his mouth like a walkie talkie. His anger puzzled me. He was yelling loud enough for the world to hear, making it difficult to make out what he was saying. He didn’t even care to hear what the person on the other end of the phone had to say; hence making it a speech, not an argument. This disgusted me. So I left. I stood up slowly, my legs aching from sitting for so long, and started my journey home. Any man who speaks alone shall be alone.
The mans voice slowly faded as our distance became greater. With every step, an anger started to slowly build. The anger was not directed at the man, but the arrogance he wore with pride. Even though I knew that people were naturally arrogant creatures, I could not help to think that some people more than others, embrace it. They wear it like a cold man wears a coat, afraid to take it off in fear they might show a little skin.
No more anger, the voice is gone.
My footsteps are light and make no sound as they hit the ground beneath me. All around I see more people; men, women, children. All of them in their own little world. A boy playing catch with his father, a mother holding her daughter as she crosses the monkey bars. All of them playing their part in life, like some sort of game.
The exit to the park is only steps away. Only then do I realize the sun is no longer as bright as it was. It will be dark soon, and I should get home.
My house is not far from the park, probably not even a mile. There is no sidewalk in the direction in which I am headed, so I stick to the edge of the road where asphalt meets the grass of other people lawns. My walk is simple, I just keep walking until I reach a dead end. My house is the one right before the road turns into a circle. It’s an old house, probably a bit older than the ones that surround it; making it that much easier for me to point out which house is mine. My walk home is like a sleep walk to me. I’ve done it so many times that once I have reached my house I barely even remember walking home at all. Even today, I was so lost in thought, that until I reached the door, I simply forgot I was walking home.
The door opened and I entered the living room. I shut the door quietly and stood there for a second. I don’t know why I did, but maybe I thought today would be different. Maybe I thought that I would not be able to here my mother crying upstairs in her room. I was wrong, today was no different than any other.
When your mother cries, you get a certain feeling. A feeling everyone knows as love. This love is different than the kind you feel towards someone. This is the kind that you feel for someone. There is a difference, if you feel love towards someone they may not love you back. If you feel love for someone, you know they love you back and cant help to feel what they feel. If they are sad, you are sad. If you feel love for someone, you know what I mean.
I automatically head up the stairs where my mom is crying in her room. My feet make the boards of each step creak, the biggest creak of all being the one when I reach the top of the stairs.
Her room is the one all they way down the hall to the right. I slowly move down the hall towards the bedroom. The hallway is littered with paintings from various artists, hardly any of the white wall shows beneath them.
The door is halfway open and I stand in the doorway just looking at my mother. Her eyes closed tight and tears rolling down her checks. She sits on the edge of her bed still sobbing. Her hands clutched tightly around a photo pressed against her chest. She is alone. I would like to help her, and calm her down, and tell everything is okay and that I’m right here, tell her that she needs to accept it and move on.
I need to accept it to move on, but I think that’s what the problem has been lately. I don’t want to accept it, I don’t want to move on, but something tells me that now is the time to do precisely that.
I would like to tell her all these things, but she would not hear me, for I am alone, I am dead.
I think I’ll say hi to Henry now
