Well, I decided to devote my writing efforts to complete a novella I’ve entitled, Little Boy.
The basic premise comes from as we age what 10 questions would someone ask about ‘the nature of things’?
I’ve always wondered about that phrase, ‘the nature of things’. Why do we like certain people? Why do we age? Why do some people die young, but others seemingly live in fiditem…
I think I’ll add some drawings – and I’m trying to take a drawing class – I just need to find the time.
Below is the initial opening draft, and yes, I’ve already written the ending.
An unblemished boy was hidden deep within his dream as he walked bare footed without fear along the moist green grass. His path traversed deeper into the forest, the floor marked with colorful fresh dandelions, daffodils and daisies. He squinted his eyes as it was the darkness just before the dawn, but the wind was blanket warm with just enough gray light cast between the new growth for him to see his future.
Even though he was a little boy, and it was his first journey into his dream, he sensed he was being watched from behind the limbs and leaves. Beneath the branches he noticed there were no dead leaves near the soaring tree trunks that were hugged by an innocent moist moss. It glistened with new life as he walked forward and it flowed over the rocks before it stopped at a streams edge and it surrounded an active rocky waterfall.
After awhile he stood on the muddy brown bank near the clear stream that ambled between the hillsides covered with dense growth toward a pale yellow light.
It was stocked with plentiful gold fish and green turtles, and the stones were smooth to his touch. He stepped into the cool water and he waded across to the other side to separate himself from those that watched him. He had learned from experience to always be aware and to avoid danger. But as he emerged from the water, he realized his white cotton pajamas were not wet. He was as dry as the moment he had gotten into bed. He stared back across the stream at the darkness behind the trees. And he noticed the grass path was now gone, and then he heard childish laughter.
“Who are you?” the Boy said. The forest was now quiet, but for the soft breeze that blew past the tree branches. “I cannot see you, but I know your over there.”
After awhile, from within the darkness a voice.
“It is your dream,” the Voice said. The Voice sighed. “You must choose forever more, you have many paths, you have many dreams, but you can never go back.”
The boy stepped back. He bit his lower lip. He stared back toward from where the path had been, but now it was overgrown with a wall of tall trees. To his left the stream coursed toward pale yellow light.
“I don’t understand,” the Boy said. He crossed his arms.
“Close your eyes, as your eyes are already closed,” the Voice said. “Now dream within your dream what you want us to be, and then tell us what you see.”
The boy looked down at his bare feet. He closed his eyes, and then he opened them. And as he watched the other side, a playful golden retriever sprang out from the darkness, as white doves landed along the tree branches.
“I want a doggy,” the Boy said. He grinned over at the dog. And the dog seemed to smile back at him as it wagged its tail. “But I can’t have one.”
“I’m not just a dog,” the Golden Retriever said. It curiously looked over at the boy. “I’m your friend. I’ll always be your friend.”
“But I don’t know you,” the Boy said. “You can talk?”
“Yes you do, you’ve always known me. I can do anything you want me to do,” the Golden Retriever said. It scratched at the green turf, and the turf scar was quickly healed. “See, this is your dream. Because you dreamed for me, there are more friends here, you just need to dream us alive, like you dreamed for me, and the fish, the turtles, the birds and everything you see in your minds eye.”