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"SSC24 - Naivety"

Naivety is one place I used to be able to escape when I was younger. Because I didn't know any better, it didn't bother me, the world could be ending, but I would be happily playing in the small back garden. There was very little green to be seen except in the hottest of summer days; most of the space was filled with withering weeds, upturned earth and a short cobbled path leading to the porch. It was a small place, an uneven oblong, parts missing from the fence, and a large area taken up by old binbags that were just forgotten by time. I would have fun nonetheless, pulling different weeds out to form shapes, to create something and say it was my own, I had no grasp of beauty at that point, it was just the fact that I had created it that made it special. Then, in contrast, the smallest of things can seem like the end of everything; I remember stinging myself on a bed of nettles at a very young age, for weeks I feared stepping out into the garden, and instead found solace in taking furniture to pieces and rearranging it as my own brainchild. Whenever I glanced out of the window at the garden I would burst into tears, swearing the nettles moved against the wind.

Then, slowly, the bubble that encapsulates your life is popped, and slowly you are brought into reality. Nothing ever feels the same as when you can do as you wish, drift in and out of anything you want, find invention in the most ugly of pictures. No matter how hard you may try, once it is lost, you can do nothing to recapture the ignorance that we all seek in times of desperation. Now I am empty, and as such I am lost for such a feeling.

Life just floats on by, never feeling as real as it did when I was a child; no more adventure, no beauty, no creativity, just burst dreams and broken hearts. All the strands of colour that are left have shone black ever since, somewhere deep inside my nothing. Now I live in one-bedroom flat, as empty and bare as the day I moved in, and colder still. The motionless never fails to send a shiver thru me; blank white walls and a stark, ice-cold presence. Two cracked, oval windows lay at the end of the living space, staring into the walkway and busy road ahead (I live in what is essentially a basement, all the walls are solid apart from where those two windows stand.) Sometimes cars will pass and they light up like eyes, passing judgement on me with a glance. I can't help but feel the cold, murderous glare as a warning that I shouldn't be hear, that I should open my eyes to the world.

But no, I lost my childhood a long time ago. I was only 9 at the time (and three quarters if my memory serves me correctly.) The day was sunny, sky lit up like the blossoming of the flowers beneath my feet. My friends and I would seek out something new to investigate, home in on anything that looked interesting. We would wander through a nearby wood by passing through a farm. You had to be quick in getting through the field as there were horses in there, and as you may know, horses aren't too friendly to strangers, especially strangers who approach them from behind...

We would go to a small stream at the riverbank, it was narrow and moved fast, but still big enough to throw skimmers down. I remember once there was a school of fish jumping out from the waters surface and we would try to hit them; none of us did, but I don't think we weren’t really trying, none of us wanted to hurt anything, but could never admit it to each other.

The day went on, we would scale the mightiest of trees we could find and mark our names on the summit with a marker pen my friend brought with him after school. To us reaching the top of the highest tree we had ever seen was quite an achievement; hardly Everest, but to us no one else had ever completed such a feat, and no one ever would.

As the green slowly disappeared, we found some old sheds full of electrical equipment and spare parts, it was perfect for the excitement we were seeking. It was located on a stretch of land that housed railway tracks. Of course, we were all too eager to investigate. We eventually came up with a plan; two of us would look for good pieces in the shed, and another would keep lookout so we could try to hit the shipments of supplies going back and forth. All I can remember is a shatter.

I purse my eyes and hope it goes away.

And like that it ended. I can’t remember anything but what I have now since that day. I've tried to change; styling myself on people I wish I was. People I had an image of in my head; people who weren't scared of reality, who could wipe all the sounds and images of pain from their body, a clean slate, a stronger me.

It destroyed me. Now I'm stuck. In between what I wish I was and what I really was. I'm nothing more than a broken soul, drifting in and out of consciousness between the fuzz of a TV that doesn't work and the familiar click of a kettle reaching boiling point. Aromas, exotic sounds, unknown voices, they all sift thru me. I suppose there's some comfort in being nothing, being empty, a shell. There are no worries. Not naivety, just reality in it purest form; fear of being who you are.

Sometimes, I'll sit back, stirring an already-cold cup of coffee as my alarm sets off again and wonder; can I remember who I truly was?

That was rather delicious.

Very nice and innocent story. Reminded me a little bit of "Stand by Me" in the childhood side of it. Very well written and nice message too.

Wasn't engaged, to be honest. Maybe it's brilliant or whatever everyone else is saying, but it didn't really have much to keep me reading it. Although I did trawl through to the end. As usual.

Grean looks better.
Lets keep it that way.

That is very true. I know (next to nothing) about weeds too.

Also, I spelt green funny, and I'm not changing it.

I was hoping "withering" would denote some sort of discolouration (is that even a word?)

Thank's for reading, though. :)

Great openning, it really drew me in, wanting to know more. One minor point though, really picky, but it did make me stop. You say there's very little grean, then go on to state there's loads of weeds, wouldn't they be green? (See told you it was petty).

Really enjoyed this.

Rocket Rickoss, you done gone stole my heart.

But yeah, brilliant read. You manage to desribe things perfectly without bogging the readers mind down. You set the perfect scene - a mixture of deep greens and dark blue's painted in watercolour and take off from there.

Pity you listen to the foo fighters, though.

I'm not big on words so won't type.

Yes, good one, Rickoss.
Your writing always has a charm about it - something that creates warmth and weightiness and...a peculiar likeability.

Quality stuff.

Don't share Ash's particular love of the opening, but it was all excellent. You're one of the best describerers (erk) on here, really vivid stuff.

Again, you steal my heart.
Nice to see something a little more solid than usual, as much as I love it.