Day 19 → A talent of yours
Dec. 7th, 2009 10:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ericadawn16Let's see, I have a talent for breaking things...when we took our new RA on a tour of McKay Hall in our Sophomore year, it ended up being an explanation of how everything was broken. Later, she would thank me for not breaking anything that semester...which is when I sheepishly showed her the desk drawer I'd broken by using it as a footrest.
However, I also have a talent for writing. This is the book I've been working on forever:
Once upon a time, that was perhaps not so long ago, in a magical land that was perhaps not so magical, there was a boy named Paul. Unfortunately, Paul had complained one time too many as his mother and sister tried on clothes. He could not think of enough wonderful adjectives to say when they would prance out in outfits identical to the ones they’d just showed him except for some variation in color and for this, he had been requested to go outside. Banished, he thought, using a new word he’d learned. This was good. He’d rather read anyway and it wasn’t like they could buy any of the clothes they were trying on. The automatic doors whooshed to a close behind him and he squinted in the brightness. It was quieter but not by much and it smelled of gasoline and cigarettes. Cars and concrete lay as far as the eye could see except for the valley below. Once it had held cows, but now it contained bulldozers and signs of things to come. There was talk of a mall which Paul doubted greatly. The only things they ever got here were banks and things that would interest old people. Hurray, it’s another drug store. He sighed and took a hand through his brown hair that came down to his shoulders…too long as he was continuously reminded by everyone. Currently, they were staring as they entered as though why should he be reading a book when there was a whole store full of things to do. However, one someone wasn’t just staring at him. They were watching him and he looked up from his page to see who. It was Doc. He wasn’t a real doctor. The fourteen year old wasn’t even sure what he had done before he knew of him, just that he seemed to know everything and everyone called him Doc.
“Paul, are you staying out of trouble?” the man asked, his grey eyes twinkling and his hands resting on a carved, oak cane.
“I can’t help it if trouble finds me,” the boy replied and the man nodded before agreeing, “Ain’t that always the way of it…I was sorry to hear about your father.”
It was met with a shrug by Paul who didn’t like to talk about what had happened two months before. Doc touched the book that the boy held in his hand and read the title aloud, “Terah R. Proyt and the Rain of Rosen Zakpba. You’re reading about a girl?”
There was another shrug and Paul mumbled, “She’s cool.”
Doc looked at him like he was going to make a smart remark like the others, but then he smiled. Sun glinted off his necklace of shells and teeth as he asked, “Are you doing anything tomorrow?”
“Nothing, just like everyday,” Paul answered, sticking his other hand down his jeans pocket.
“Meet me at the bike track tomorrow at 4,” said Doc before turning and starting to walk away, “Good day, Paul.”
As he strode off, the necklace and the objects that were attached to the man’s belt clanked and tinkled while the thin strands of his white hair blew up under the cowboy hat. The boy wondered what it could be. Doc never made appointments. He just seemed to appear where he was needed. Paul knew that he wouldn’t be able to tell his mom though because she’d be suspicious even though Doc had been hanging around the children for years, maybe even decades, with not a bad word ever said about him. His instinct was to tell his sister, but she’d been different lately and it wasn’t like it used to be when she was cool with his hanging out with her. With no indication when they were coming out, Paul sat on a small metal horse and continued to read.
However, I also have a talent for writing. This is the book I've been working on forever:
Once upon a time, that was perhaps not so long ago, in a magical land that was perhaps not so magical, there was a boy named Paul. Unfortunately, Paul had complained one time too many as his mother and sister tried on clothes. He could not think of enough wonderful adjectives to say when they would prance out in outfits identical to the ones they’d just showed him except for some variation in color and for this, he had been requested to go outside. Banished, he thought, using a new word he’d learned. This was good. He’d rather read anyway and it wasn’t like they could buy any of the clothes they were trying on. The automatic doors whooshed to a close behind him and he squinted in the brightness. It was quieter but not by much and it smelled of gasoline and cigarettes. Cars and concrete lay as far as the eye could see except for the valley below. Once it had held cows, but now it contained bulldozers and signs of things to come. There was talk of a mall which Paul doubted greatly. The only things they ever got here were banks and things that would interest old people. Hurray, it’s another drug store. He sighed and took a hand through his brown hair that came down to his shoulders…too long as he was continuously reminded by everyone. Currently, they were staring as they entered as though why should he be reading a book when there was a whole store full of things to do. However, one someone wasn’t just staring at him. They were watching him and he looked up from his page to see who. It was Doc. He wasn’t a real doctor. The fourteen year old wasn’t even sure what he had done before he knew of him, just that he seemed to know everything and everyone called him Doc.
“Paul, are you staying out of trouble?” the man asked, his grey eyes twinkling and his hands resting on a carved, oak cane.
“I can’t help it if trouble finds me,” the boy replied and the man nodded before agreeing, “Ain’t that always the way of it…I was sorry to hear about your father.”
It was met with a shrug by Paul who didn’t like to talk about what had happened two months before. Doc touched the book that the boy held in his hand and read the title aloud, “Terah R. Proyt and the Rain of Rosen Zakpba. You’re reading about a girl?”
There was another shrug and Paul mumbled, “She’s cool.”
Doc looked at him like he was going to make a smart remark like the others, but then he smiled. Sun glinted off his necklace of shells and teeth as he asked, “Are you doing anything tomorrow?”
“Nothing, just like everyday,” Paul answered, sticking his other hand down his jeans pocket.
“Meet me at the bike track tomorrow at 4,” said Doc before turning and starting to walk away, “Good day, Paul.”
As he strode off, the necklace and the objects that were attached to the man’s belt clanked and tinkled while the thin strands of his white hair blew up under the cowboy hat. The boy wondered what it could be. Doc never made appointments. He just seemed to appear where he was needed. Paul knew that he wouldn’t be able to tell his mom though because she’d be suspicious even though Doc had been hanging around the children for years, maybe even decades, with not a bad word ever said about him. His instinct was to tell his sister, but she’d been different lately and it wasn’t like it used to be when she was cool with his hanging out with her. With no indication when they were coming out, Paul sat on a small metal horse and continued to read.
