Originally posted by sonhouse So is anyone going to actually write a FRIGGING STORY?🙂
Here's one.
There was a guy on the internet who got all impatient. But if he had read the rules, he would have known that the deadline was not until next year. But, alas, he was not the type of person who read directions....so he got flustered, threw a fit, and passed out in a pool of his own mouth foam.
There was a guy on the internet who got all impatient. But if he had read the rules, he would have known that the deadline was not until next year. But, alas, he was not the type of person who read directions....so he got flustered, threw a fit, and passed out in a pool of his own mouth foam.
This is a true story and one worth reflecting upon as we gather with our families this holiday season.
Once upon a time there was a small boy named mud. This wasn't his real name, but, given that he couldn't remember his real name it seemed as good as any. Mud lived in a native village in modern day Canada. While his parentage, in a village with an incest rate closing on 100 percent, was uncertain, he was the youngest of seven. His younger brother had recently perished when he rolled off a bed onto a space heater while his parents were out on a three day bender.
I bought Mud and two of his siblings dinner in a little diner that had been built to serve dying forestry industry. Mud cried into his plate when I asked him where his parents were. He hadn't seen them for days and his eldest sister who usually took care of them had been beaten up so badly by her boyfriend that she couldn't get out of bed.
As I drove out of town I could see Mud standing in the street with $30 clutched in his too small fist. Snow blew across the road and obscured him for a moment. When it cleared he was gone.
Where do we find hope? Is it always there? Or does there have to be an ember to cultivate it from. I think the answer is that hope is an illusion, the last bastion of faith in an immoral world. Humanity is something we say we value, charity something we admire in others, but, we don't live these ideals. We could change mud's faith. It would take very little. He doesn't need money, at least this isn't the core of what he needs. He needs the physical manifestation of hope. A warm place to sleep, a good meal, safety from a raised fist, education and the courage to do what is needed.
Originally posted by Hand of Hecate This is a true story and one worth reflecting upon as we gather with our families this holiday season.
Once upon a time there was a small boy named mud. This wasn't his real name, but, given that he couldn't remember his real name it seemed as good as any. Mud lived in a native village in modern day Canada. While his parentage, in a village with ...[text shortened]... o sleep, a good meal, safety from a raised fist, education and the courage to do what is needed.
Sometimes I get visions of you lost and adrift in a sea of pretend.
Originally posted by Suzianne Sometimes I get visions of you lost and adrift in a sea of pretend.
Ah yes, but, the truth is more interesting. What part of my story do you think is fake. There are dozens of native communities wallowing in alcoholism, abuse and neglect. Mud's story is hardly unique. The little baby rolling off the bed and dying on a space heater could be one of the most heart breaking things I'd ever heard.
2014 RHP Prose Competition
04 Dec '13 22:57
Back to Top