I recently went through my filing cabinet & I found a story that I wrote a long time ago (1991). It's possible that I wrote it while waiting to see my g/f in 7th grade, because I sometimes wrote poetry and stories to pass the time between when I got home from school and when my dad would come home from work (after that, he'd drive me down to her place). I didn't write it for school--I wrote it because I was bored. If you wish to read it just look below (comments welcome):

I look back—too far back—and nearly fall into darkness. I am at the cross-section of two wide oblivions, and passage into either of these black destinies would spell certain death. It is so much like life on this thin line between apparent worlds. I am startled, unsettled, broken and magnified all at once. Surely no one could bear this forever. I take a step forward and embrace something. I do not embrace fate: too many careless steps and death will become me. No, I can be neither the ostrich nor the albatross, nor nightingale nor raven—no great illusion sits before me with beak and feather outstretched—none shall alight upon my arms or peck at my eyes.

Alone, weary, sad, corrupt, I remain strong enough to shake above this wire-like vine and wise enough to realize I feel like the weight of the world all balled up into a single being. The unavoidable decision to cross was not an act of suicide; rather it was an act of courage. Life will carry on without me, and I am small and worthless. Yet I feel so much and I understand so many little things, and I press forward, if for no other reason than to do it. I am absolutely alone, and, for once, I have a decision all my own.

The great architecture of the jungle brings itself to bear on me, and I bear it uncomfortably. I could have avoided this incredible passage. I could have climbed to the wretched peak of this great jagged hill, but then I would never have faced myself, or even faced the world, on my own terms. No, I must be shaken from my easy tree. So here I am, sweating and hot, bare footed, slippery, scared to death, and yet determined to do what I can to travel my own way. I have crossed about seven feet along a vine which hangs calmly and shamelessly over a raging ravine at the end of a forty foot plummet between sharp black rocks at one flank and impenetrable fog in the other. An unaccustomed explorer would hardly believe daylight gushes into the treetops far overhead—I am an unaccustomed explorer.

The dark jungle background forms a rugged silhouette that radiates in every direction. Tiny wisps of light dangle like fishing lines between the dust, fog and rocky edge around me. I hear rustling all around, but I see nothing move. A shiver begins at the base of my spine and stops at the base of my skull. I step without daring, and then, with growing confidence, risk another. My legs shake and my arms wave wildly until I cross my ankles slightly and bring my elbows out. I take another step with my arms stretched at my sides. I reach but cannot touch the rocks to my left. I do not reach any further. My feet move forward without jerking or hesitating, and, all of a sudden, I begin, slowly and unmistakably, to walk. The tether below me feels stronger as I carry myself forward, and nine feet become eleven and thirteen and eventually the thirty or so feet that bring me to the other side of the craggy abyss.

I feel nothing for a moment, and then a final cold shudder below the warmth of the jungle swallows up my body and I feel aright and almost blessed. The full feeling of being alive opens me to the rest of the day, and I am at once weightless and filled to the rim. Joy echoes where sadness, vanity and despair once pressed against my skin from the inside out. If you have never risked your life over an independent movement, I suggest you do so. If you die, you will leave your misery behind, and, if you live, you will gain the joy that you never knew you could feel. You do not achieve nirvana or an out of body experience. You achieve a state of freshness and zest for life—or at least the zest of being at home inside yourself. No psychiatrist or old record can bring you to this kind of solid, unbreakable existence.

For a moment, I forget all the stuff of life and I focus on the feeling of being alive. It truly does not matter whether you are hairy or hairless, fat or thin, pretty or ugly, strong or weak, so long as you have given up all the miseries of reputation, betrayal, education, commerce … so long as you have turned your back on everything that takes you away from the god-like experience of self-awareness and joy that new and independent thought and feeling provide. I could just as easily be a bear and feel as I do now. I wonder if human beings are the most miserable of all the creatures of the earth. We are certainly the most ignorant about bodies and the natural expanses of the universe. The cosmos are beautiful, and this thought should carry any man happily to the grave, the picket line, or even the woods.

=======

The story contained another sentence, so it was originally meant to be continued; however, I very rarely continued unfinished stories. Sorry for any typos but I hurried to post this.

This post was edited by RewtheBrave on Oct 1 2008 01:00pm