I was thinking earlier about old stories I had written at a young age. After work I dug through some of my ridiculous amount of stored items hoping to find my poetry notebook. I haven’t written poetry in 17-20 years. Unfortunately I didn’t find the journal, it is probably in a box full of books in the garage. But I did find a poem I wrote when I was about 16 years old. During my digging I also found a story I wrote for school when I was 11 years old. I’m going to share them both with you.
Love is a river
Flowing in and out of the darkness
Love is a mystery
Never knowing how it will end
Love is the darkness
Being afraid of it, but it’s so wonderful
Love is an angel
Not always seeing it, but it’s always there
Love is a predator sneaking up on it’s prey
Never knowing if you’ll be next
Love is a monster
Knowing it’s hiding somewhere in the dark
Written in 1996 or 1997
I was so proud of the poem, I even entered it into a contest. I am not sure what ever happened to that. But for not being someone with a talent for poetry it’s not too bad.
Now on to the story the 11 year old me wrote.
Gizmo the Dog
One day Gizmo went for a walk. On his walk he met a cat, so he chased the cat. The cat asked, “Could you quite chasing me?”
Gizmo replied, “Why should I?”
“Because my friend will hurt you if I tell him.”
Gizmo when on his way. Before he go too far down the gravel road he stopped and asked the cat, “What is your name?”
“My name is Jerry.” The cat replied.
Gizmo left. He thought about what Jerry had said. He saw Jerry later that day. Gizmo said, “Why don’t we meet somewhere me, you and your friend.” They agreed to meet under the tree. Jerry’s friend turned out to be a lion. They all became friends. Gizmo learned not to chase anyone ever again.
Written in 1991
Reading that story I don’t even remember writing it, though 1991 was a long time ago and half the time I can’t even remember yesterday. Like at this moment I don’t even remember what I had for lunch! Though I know at the time I thought Gizmo the dog was an amazing story. The only thing I hope is my writing has progressed over the twenty-two years. If not I’m just hanging up my pen and retiring!
So now please go drink that beer, so you can forget the horrible writings of a small child who is now all grown up and calls herself a writer.