"I want to be a writer"
"a writer?", they asked,
faces full of surprise and impact
"why's that?" they asked
"it makes me happy" I said, with my face lighting up in a golden manner
"up to that point, I'd never thought I needed a reason to write...
I never realised that I needed to have a reason to write..." I thought to myself
"how will you eat from writing?", one shouted from a distance...
"how will you provide for your family?" another voice proclaimed
"writers don't make money" another voice yelled out
all these and thousands of voices in the crowd shouted simultaneously.
I was able to answer each question, respectively, before the voices started crying out all at once.
one voice in crowd called out louder than all the other voices in a defeaning sound "let's give the boy a chance to speak!!" and it there was silence in the gathering "speak, young man" the voice said.
" I think..." the boy started "...I think the questions you're asking are valid, but rather, irrelevant. the real question here is: 'will I be living?'"
"this is a potent question" one shy-ish voice murmured.
"when I write I am most alive" said the boy.
" when I write I become a God,
I create and destroy worlds,
I have control over everyone and everything existing in those worlds.
when I write, I get to talk to my heart, tell it how I really feel.
when I write and when I DO it... oh, my heart tells me a lot of things in return." the boy said passionately.
"there are only a few people in the world who are able to communicate with their hearts" he thought to himself.
and he continued talking to the crowd "and if I have to pay the world for talking to my heart, then I shall forever be in debt to your world, but I shall remain a God. Forever."
©givenm
G