~ thoughts from a character ~
How many big stories can you tell? I’ve got lots. Comes from growing up the way I did, with the people I did, and living the life I do. I’m a special fucking snowflake.
Most of my stories are full of shit. They’re real, but consist mostly of all the craptastic ways life can throw a curve ball into your face. I’ve learned to duck real fast.
Most of those wild pitches have been people. It’s hard to really know a person, even if they’ve been in your life for years. Worse still is trying to predict how they’ll act on drugs, or when their devastated or threatened. Huge emotional swings, whether natural or chemically induced, make for tales banked for special occasions.
I sometimes wonder if I could live just off telling all my stories. Write a book, maybe. Or scratch out a sign on some cardboard. “Pay me $5 and I’ll tell you a tale that’ll blow your mind. And, it’s true.” It’s hard to pirate a whispered experience, but I’m sure someone’ll figure out how to soon.
I’m just glad I haven’t inflicted my luck or DNA on anyone yet. Lord knows, no kid deserves the family I’ve endured or the life I’ve muddled through. I like the idea of one of those pretty families, full of smiles and hugs and no debt. Their clean and fake and safe. But, until I start trusting people, I’ll stick to my dive bars, park benches, and quiet library corners.
Stop by some time, and I’ll tell you a doozy.
Categorised as: Writing
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