//ryland//
...the beginning to a short story I will never finish...
He was maniacally deliberate with the adante cadence of his steps. The even sound of dried vegetation crackling under his shoes provided the most fitting soundtrack for this occasion. It was incredibly cold, and he hated the woods.
Well, scratch that.
Once upon a time he had a deep love for the woods, but at the moment he hated his surroundings. The towering trees and the smell of decomposing leaves blanketing the forest floor reminded him of the past. When he was a younger he had found sanctuary in these woods. Lord knows what he did there.
Which seems like something most prepubescent males his age would be doing. While in most cases that seems to be the correct assumption, this kid was different. To him there was something alluring about the woods that had nothing to do with matches. Maybe the woods were the only place he could be himself; in the woods, alone, just his thoughts amongst the silence, being and doing whatever he wanted. I’ll be honest, that does sound a little weird, but freedom for a ten year old doesn’t come with many qualifications. My guess is that being in the woods provided him solitude. As much solitude as a young boy needs, I imagine. Nevertheless he loved the woods for reasons that maybe only he understood, and I don't think it responsible for you nor I to prematurely chastise him for such a harmless past time.
Although, in recent months it had gotten to the point in which his parents became concerned about him being gone so much. The boy seemed just a little too independent for their taste. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust him. He was a good kid, straight A’s, and never the subject of a parent teacher conference like his older sister, but a “little bit of a loner” is what his mom would mention to her therapist. The boy didn’t know about the therapist. As passe as seeing a therapist may seem (therapy is so early 90’s), his mom simply worried that her son wouldn’t make friends. Loners typicallly have a hard time fitting into any sort of social scene. In her defense, she simply worried that her incessant worrying might further his fascination with seclusion.
Not such a bad thing to worry about, if you ask me.
jared.
He was maniacally deliberate with the adante cadence of his steps. The even sound of dried vegetation crackling under his shoes provided the most fitting soundtrack for this occasion. It was incredibly cold, and he hated the woods.
Well, scratch that.
Once upon a time he had a deep love for the woods, but at the moment he hated his surroundings. The towering trees and the smell of decomposing leaves blanketing the forest floor reminded him of the past. When he was a younger he had found sanctuary in these woods. Lord knows what he did there.
Probably burn things.
Which seems like something most prepubescent males his age would be doing. While in most cases that seems to be the correct assumption, this kid was different. To him there was something alluring about the woods that had nothing to do with matches. Maybe the woods were the only place he could be himself; in the woods, alone, just his thoughts amongst the silence, being and doing whatever he wanted. I’ll be honest, that does sound a little weird, but freedom for a ten year old doesn’t come with many qualifications. My guess is that being in the woods provided him solitude. As much solitude as a young boy needs, I imagine. Nevertheless he loved the woods for reasons that maybe only he understood, and I don't think it responsible for you nor I to prematurely chastise him for such a harmless past time.
Although, in recent months it had gotten to the point in which his parents became concerned about him being gone so much. The boy seemed just a little too independent for their taste. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust him. He was a good kid, straight A’s, and never the subject of a parent teacher conference like his older sister, but a “little bit of a loner” is what his mom would mention to her therapist. The boy didn’t know about the therapist. As passe as seeing a therapist may seem (therapy is so early 90’s), his mom simply worried that her son wouldn’t make friends. Loners typicallly have a hard time fitting into any sort of social scene. In her defense, she simply worried that her incessant worrying might further his fascination with seclusion.
Not such a bad thing to worry about, if you ask me.
jared.
Labels: short stories
this reminds me of my childhood. (think 2nd to 4th grade (before computers)). well exclude the therapist, or at least i hope...
Posted by
blake stewart |
10:12 PM
oh my gosh... i miss ryland.
Posted by
Anonymous |
5:16 PM