Daniel’s Story

This is Daniel. My family has the tradition of writing and sharing stories every year around Christmas time. Each year we choose a subject, usually concerning relationships, hardships, memories, or life in general. It has come to be a way of describing life, a way to get a grasp on reality, a time to step back and comprehend, a time to share lessons learned, and most of all, a time to get together and have an excuse to eat! My family is very into eating large meals without restraint sometimes one after another. This year's theme was "Sixteen". Enjoy, and I dare you to write your own. If enough respond I might even get hooked into this blogging addiction everyone has.

One last note, they are read out loud so I write them in a way where I must use voice inflection. So read it out loud in the most manly voice you can muster. Love you all.

Life With Realization Yet

to Come

The man in the black suit Ran around the corner of the bleak surrounding void of details. I pursued after him at breakneck speed. My nimble feet and powerful stride were still not able to bring me any closer to the man in black. He turned left around another corner, coat tails waving in nasty, mocking tone. "You can't catch us," they teased, "we are the ginger-black man." I bounded after him now descending two escalators side by side. I was on the left and finally catching up to him on the right. He stopped and turned to confront me and I did not give pause to hesitate. I bounded across sending feet first into his chest, my hands ready to brace for the graceful maneuver with the ungraceful ending. I stood in a gratifyingly powerful pose looking down the escalator at the man in a crumpled heap at the bottom as the stair gently glided down the stark landscape of an unknown city. I heard on the city's intercom system a faintly familiar, "beep…beep…beep…BEEP…BEEP…."

I am caught by a wind of maddeningly strange texture. I accelerate, twisting incomprehensibly in all directions towards the end. My mind stretches and consciousness, a consciousness like a liquid of great cohesive abilities, slimes and sucks through that tiny hole in the film separating the world from that of my own world. My alarm is there to greet me. How lovely. I grope with hands, blind without the response of my eyes. I move with great precision and "snooze mode" is activated. The best nine minutes of my day.

Nine minutes. NINE minutes. Who comes up with these things? Nine, nine, why not ten. Couldn't make it an even ten? And like nine is a snooze. I rather doubt that after these nine minutes that I will spring out of bed, do 20 pushups, run upstairs and hug my mother singing, "Oh, what a wonderful morning." More like 90 minutes. That's my kind of snooze. My hand, liberated from controlled conscious thought, reaches up using that same muscle memory. Unbeknownst to me, I ready myself for a "proper" snooze.

I desperately try to grasp the image of the man in the black suit in a heap on the floor. I wish to finish him. I retrace my steps in the void city. Stark, similar buildings navigate past me as I search out the man. I descend the escalators expecting to hear a cry for mercy.

I find a rather beautiful young lady in a very noticeable red dress walking very elegantly towards me. After a great deal of noticing, I stop to get a bearing on my situation. What should I say? "Hello, miss, have you seen a man in a black suit around here lately?" No, forget about him. What about her? "Hello, miss, all alone on this cold evening?" No, you sound like a murderer. Wait! Did you do your hair? Did you even brush your teeth? Are you even dressed? …well…

Dressed?!! What time is it!?! I rush out that pin prick in the hole in the veil and sit bolt upright in my bed. It's nearly 2^nd hour! I rush into my clothes, careful not to choose what I wore yesterday. That's a disaster. I calculate whether or not mom would be home at this time. Yes, she is probably home. Oh well, can't use the water. That would give my laziness away. I sneak out the downstairs backdoor praying that she isn't eating breakfast at the kitchen table just overhead. The door is impossibly loud as it groans across the floor giving my escape away for sure. I slowly close the door behind me and leap onto the cement ledge onto the ground level underneath the deck in the backyard. I low-crawl across the ground until out of sight from the glass slider door then, back against the wall, I shuffle swiftly around the corner. Taking an obviously natural poise, I walk nonchalantly across the street to the school. Living so close can be a blessing and a curse.

I enter halls of zits, buck teeth, skate shoes, CD players, BO, pretty girls that are clueless who I am and how I drop kicked the black suited man, football uniforms, hair scrunches, backpacks, cheerleaders, no running, late homework, very seldom and fascinating "cat fights", nerds, jocks, fashion, slime, primped and prepped, grungy punk, teacher's pet, class clown, and teachers to attempt at governing it all, to try in vain to direct the multitude. It is society at its peak. Not at its best, nor worst. That's up for debate. Just at its peak.

I walk down the immense wasteland of a corridor, soft, howling wind in the distance flowing over the cold walls. I travel alone, fending for myself, trying to stay afloat as I swim through the mass of crowds. Through the cacophony of voiceless wind, a distant "Hey Garv" catches my ear. I turn to search for the source but I am caught in the flow of that cold society, swept away to never know of the other entity in my realm. Someone to notice, to talk to, to know their name. I trudge onward, walking, drifting. Again, a different voice, this time more distinct against the giant, cold, soulless wind. "Hey Garv." Who are these people? Where did they come from and how do they know me? What is this madness? This is definitely not how the Society has been built or is ran or whatever the Society's function is. Hey Garvs are not included. Never. Just the wind. Just the natural, constant, never changing flow of the Society. "Hey Garv." What? "Hey Garv." "Hey Garvin" "What's up Garv."

I remember the time in my life where the world realized I existed, realized my name. Garv was from the band room, where I had an identity. It leaked out, rising exponentially introducing itself to the Society. I was then known and now had the struggle to know others ahead of me. All of that thanks to beautiful percussive voices. A set of Drums.