I wrote this story last night in about an hour. It deals with a loss of a dream, and the realization that one has to take control of ones life. It deals with the loss of innocence one has as a child and the comming of age in which you see that. This is probably really boring for you guys, i really enjoy it and hope you read it.
Constructive Critisism is highly appreciated.
PS: this story was not intended to be depressing, infact its filled with some kind of hope.
Echoes of Mr. Braddock
by Cory j Price
He sat in the hot car. His mind running as he stared into space. The air around him boiled and stung his skin with the heat. He was not bothered. Sweat ran down his face, and soaked his Shirt, yet he paid it no heed. Deep in thought, his mind whirled with thought. The old existentialist thinking was wrecking havoc on his being. Questions popped up that he could not answer. What was it? He wondered. He thought of the past few months. He had just graduated College, with many things ahead of him in life - Or so he thought. Yet he could find no reason to go out and complete those things, the things that were expected of him. The things they expected out of him. Everything had come to this point in his life. 12 years of School, then eight more years of school after that, he was twenty nine almost thirty. I am almost old. He thought to himself with disgust. Have I wasted my childhood and life doing things that others have wanted of me? He thought of his parents and their constant fight to get him to go to law school. It was their prodding that got him there, and it was their prodding that he completed the eight years of school. What was my old dream? He thought back to his childhood. Flashes of boyhood reflected in his nostalgic state. He remembered telling his parents.
?I want to become a fire fighter!?
That was at Age eight, by ten he had decided on joining the military. No he thought, that wasn?t it? There was something I had always wanted to do. He thought farther back. Visions of school, always school passed through his mind. I found it? He was three, and stood with paint on his hands and smudged on his cheek. This was it. He watched the scene unfold in his mind. A sweat drop slowly rolled down his cheek from his temple forcing his eyes to blink several times, though he stared blankly ahead lost in his own thoughts. I wanted to be an artist. Sighing with great loss he watched further, letting the memory fade from view, his life fast forwarding through his existence.
He was seven, and stood at an isle at school. His paintbrush moved fluidly over the paper. His steady hands were unwavering in their pursuit of painting. The teacher came to look down on what he was painting.
?Good Work!? she seemed truly impressed.
He remembered beaming up at her with an innocent childhood smile.
The memory faded once more, like debris washed away in a flood. I loved painting. I loved it ever since I was a child. More memories came to him. His mind clouded with them. He was at a baseball game, twelve years old. Looking out over the game, he noticed shapes and colors. Sitting down, he grabbed a pencil and sketched out the basic layout of the game. He got home and sat down, looking at the sketch. He grabbed a paint set and started painting on a canvas; the colors seemed to flow from his hand and the picture he had retained in his mind seemed to move in harmony. He finished and brought the painting to his father. His father watched it, looking it over with lazy eyes.
?Looks good son, but I think its time you started working... I signed you up for a paper route! You?ll need to bring in cash if you want to keep that silly hobby of yours.? He worked that paper route for two years.
His eyes unfocused for a bit whipping the sweat from his face with one hand, he looked around for the first time in what seemed like decades. He was in his garage but felt no desire to get out. No desire to do anything. That plagued him. He had a BS and master?s degree in law. It was his duty to go and make something of his life, yet he felt nothing. Apathy filled all the days he spent living at home. What am I going to do? I cannot just sit here and dream about what could have been? but he did just that.
Sweet sixteen rolled around, and his parents bought him a 1967 ford Mustang. The one he sat in today. He was excited of course, but something bothered him about the Car. It was the color, black. Black?how I hate that color. He wanted it to be Red, Or Yellow something vibrant something that expressed his love of colors. When he painted a picture of his Car, he painted it in several colors. When he presented his pride and joy to his parents they explained. ?Son, I know you wanted the mustang, no professional would ever be caught driving a red car! I think you should be happy that you have a mustang. We thought about buying you A four door coupe.? He guessed they were right. That night his father came into his room.
?Listen son, I think its time you started thinking about college and what you are going to do with your life.?
?I want to paint.?
?No son, that will not do? you cannot make money painting. In fact you just lose money, and get into a lot of trouble like that weird Spaniard fellow.?
?I like the things Salvador Dali puts out??
?Son, listen to me carefully. I raised you; I know what?s best for you. What?s best for you is to go to college and learn a trade that will best suite you. Have you thought about med school??
?Uh? no dad, I hate needles...?
?How about law? You like arguing don?t you??
?No not re??
?You will learn, great! I am so proud of you son!?
With that he got up and left the room turning the light off. That?s when it changed, that?s when I forgot about painting. He thought to himself somewhat bitterly. He looked around; the heat was starting to get to him. He looked around spotting an old green paint can he watched it waiting for something. Yes? I see it, it is green. He could see that it was green. He coughed harshly, his throat burned and hurt. His eyes watered. He looked around as if suddenly realizing what he was doing. The 1967 black ford mustang was filling up with smoke. He focused his eyes on the hose that stuck through the window. I was ready to give up seeing the green paint can? He kicked open the door, coughing hard as he fell out into his garage. He got up on his knees and slapped a button. The garage door started slowly rising, the hot boxed garage letting out its smoke. He looked outside, he watched the Garage door slowly rise, he saw the colors pouring into his vision. Beautiful?
Echoes of Mr. Braddock
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