The beginning of a story i started writing a day ago.
Remember, I'm only 14. I'm no professional.
His strategy would be peace, and his rise would be from intelligence. He would obviously be the supreme ruler. Of what? The world? What was the world? Maybe he already was - but who could tell? It was a dream. Or was it? The border between reality and dream was blurred. He would have to wait. And wait was what he did.
Four years passed with unbearable lethargy. Now a child of six, he was both blessed and cursed with an imagination that never ceased to supply him with ideas and plans. He still had the dreams of being the ruler of all but they had begun to abate. He had learned his identity and he was still sure that he would one day become what he dreamed of. He did not comprehend the size of the world nor his infinitesimal role in it. At the time, as far as he knew, he was his own god. He did what he could and what he wanted, and he was proud. Nobody understood him - his parents did not know of anything and his friends - or what his parents called friends – did not know either.*He did not consider himself a prodigy - he just thought a lot. He didn't seem to be the brightest kid on the block - His teachers liked him, as shy and intrusive as he was. But he was only six. It was impossible to classify him yet - still a child of six, he could become anything. Or possibly just ruler of the world.
School, to him another bland and pointless monotonous task, had to come every day. It gave him time to sleep, at least - to think and to ponder. Form plans. How would he take control? Would he ask the principal? Would he bring in his father's gun? No. He knew that th e only way to win was peace. Violence was for movies only. Now, the way to go about the task...
"Alf?" No response.
"Alfie? Have you fallen asleep again?" Mumbling. He could hear but not comprehend.
"Hey! Come on, wake up!" Clear now.
"I'm sorry - I won't do it again, Mrs. Ellis."
It was times such as these that Alfie suppose he might have to actually do something to progress through life. Previously, his early days as a toddler and infant required nothing of him, while now he had to work. He had heard from older children that as he progressed, his life was to become more tedious and difficult, but he pushed away the claims and slept in the simple life of six. Now he was awake, and he would have to try to convince his teacher he had been working.
"Alfie, you really have to stop falling asleep. Are you sure it's not a sickness?" The sound of the word sickness made him ponder. Had he been sick, he would be able to get away with sleeping in class.
"I'm not sure, Mrs. Ellis. I might ask the doctor."
At this point, his eyes opened and*the window he sat next to flooded bright, searing, Texan sun into his little eyes. It burned him but he made no sound. He winced, swallowing his pain as his eyes slowly adjusted and let light help him rather than hurt him.
Once his brief incident of pain had passed, he looked around him. Crosses covered the room in an arrangement only a lunatic could replicate, and so it was. He was in a Christian School. He was wearing a silly outfit in a silly school that taught silly things. Why did he care when January was? Would he ever actually go to Cambodia? Who was George Washington and why was his name so silly sounding? Why did his parents force him into the tiny clothes made mandatory by those mean leaders? It was at least a billion degrees outside. Why couldn't he wear a tee shirt like at home? Alfie was utterly puzzled.
In fact, to such an extent was he puzzled that he ranted. Rarely did he do so, as a verbal lashing and mild physical abuse would certainly be the result. But today he was just too hot to function. The thing in his head they called the “brain”, that l'il miracle from god in his little noggin, was fried and kaput. At least The day was nearly done. His rant was unexpected and loud. Furthermore, it was prayer time.
“Please can we take off these ties, Mrs. Ellis? I really hate them! And could we open the windows? Or turn on that old fan? I mean, God, Mrs. Ellis, everyone's so hot! Can you try to help us instead of trying to bake us? What are you, the witch from Hansel and Gretel? Really!”
Upon finishing his statement, Alfie realized he had inserted him into a situation he wouldn't easily get out of. Within seconds, the room burst into murmurs about Alfie and his strange manner of speaking. The teacher, at this point looking to be less of a woman of 60 and more of 80, looked utterly shocked.
Remember, I'm only 14. I'm no professional.
His strategy would be peace, and his rise would be from intelligence. He would obviously be the supreme ruler. Of what? The world? What was the world? Maybe he already was - but who could tell? It was a dream. Or was it? The border between reality and dream was blurred. He would have to wait. And wait was what he did.
Four years passed with unbearable lethargy. Now a child of six, he was both blessed and cursed with an imagination that never ceased to supply him with ideas and plans. He still had the dreams of being the ruler of all but they had begun to abate. He had learned his identity and he was still sure that he would one day become what he dreamed of. He did not comprehend the size of the world nor his infinitesimal role in it. At the time, as far as he knew, he was his own god. He did what he could and what he wanted, and he was proud. Nobody understood him - his parents did not know of anything and his friends - or what his parents called friends – did not know either.*He did not consider himself a prodigy - he just thought a lot. He didn't seem to be the brightest kid on the block - His teachers liked him, as shy and intrusive as he was. But he was only six. It was impossible to classify him yet - still a child of six, he could become anything. Or possibly just ruler of the world.
School, to him another bland and pointless monotonous task, had to come every day. It gave him time to sleep, at least - to think and to ponder. Form plans. How would he take control? Would he ask the principal? Would he bring in his father's gun? No. He knew that th e only way to win was peace. Violence was for movies only. Now, the way to go about the task...
"Alf?" No response.
"Alfie? Have you fallen asleep again?" Mumbling. He could hear but not comprehend.
"Hey! Come on, wake up!" Clear now.
"I'm sorry - I won't do it again, Mrs. Ellis."
It was times such as these that Alfie suppose he might have to actually do something to progress through life. Previously, his early days as a toddler and infant required nothing of him, while now he had to work. He had heard from older children that as he progressed, his life was to become more tedious and difficult, but he pushed away the claims and slept in the simple life of six. Now he was awake, and he would have to try to convince his teacher he had been working.
"Alfie, you really have to stop falling asleep. Are you sure it's not a sickness?" The sound of the word sickness made him ponder. Had he been sick, he would be able to get away with sleeping in class.
"I'm not sure, Mrs. Ellis. I might ask the doctor."
At this point, his eyes opened and*the window he sat next to flooded bright, searing, Texan sun into his little eyes. It burned him but he made no sound. He winced, swallowing his pain as his eyes slowly adjusted and let light help him rather than hurt him.
Once his brief incident of pain had passed, he looked around him. Crosses covered the room in an arrangement only a lunatic could replicate, and so it was. He was in a Christian School. He was wearing a silly outfit in a silly school that taught silly things. Why did he care when January was? Would he ever actually go to Cambodia? Who was George Washington and why was his name so silly sounding? Why did his parents force him into the tiny clothes made mandatory by those mean leaders? It was at least a billion degrees outside. Why couldn't he wear a tee shirt like at home? Alfie was utterly puzzled.
In fact, to such an extent was he puzzled that he ranted. Rarely did he do so, as a verbal lashing and mild physical abuse would certainly be the result. But today he was just too hot to function. The thing in his head they called the “brain”, that l'il miracle from god in his little noggin, was fried and kaput. At least The day was nearly done. His rant was unexpected and loud. Furthermore, it was prayer time.
“Please can we take off these ties, Mrs. Ellis? I really hate them! And could we open the windows? Or turn on that old fan? I mean, God, Mrs. Ellis, everyone's so hot! Can you try to help us instead of trying to bake us? What are you, the witch from Hansel and Gretel? Really!”
Upon finishing his statement, Alfie realized he had inserted him into a situation he wouldn't easily get out of. Within seconds, the room burst into murmurs about Alfie and his strange manner of speaking. The teacher, at this point looking to be less of a woman of 60 and more of 80, looked utterly shocked.
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