October
Tuesday 7 December 2010 photo 1/1
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So much I would do…
I printed the last word and then a dot. I was finally done; three months of hard work had finally paid off. My first real book, it was 256 pages long and I was very proud of it. You might think that I’m about 30 years old perhaps but no. Not even close, yeah well if you split 30 with two then you get my real age. 15. I am fifteen years old and have written a book, how many fifteen year old boys have done that. Not so many I would think. My biggest dream was and is to be a writer, and a famous one. I want to be remembered when I am dead, not forgotten two minutes after my pulse is gone. I really feel I would do literally ANYTHING to be a famous writer. I am not a religious man, not at all. But if there is a God, please do this one little thing for me. How hard can it be, seriously?! Just this one thing and I will shut up forever. I thought to myself all these thoughts and when I had finished there was complete silence. I waited for a sign, just something to say that He had heard me. Then the whole room went dark, and a cold wind was suddenly blowing. There was a damped light in front of me, and suddenly a dark figure appeared before my eyes. He had come from nothing; he had been thin air but was now as alive as I was. I was not sure if this man was of flesh and blood but he was not any prank of my mind, of that I was sure. The man was wearing a black coat, which was covering his whole body. It only took one glance at him and it felt like someone had walked across my grave. There was something wrong with this figure, something unnatural. This figure started to talk, his voice was rough and it sounded like he had not talked for years.
“Your wish, you shouldn’t pray to God, you should pray to me for such things, the figure said."
“Why should I pray to you?, said I carefully."
“Do you know who I am, he said."
“No, I don’t know who you are, but no man surely, I said and tried to look closer at the figure."
“No, no man. Once perhaps but that was long ago, he said."
“Then pray, tell me, who are you?, said I, this man had woken my curiosity."
“I have many names, to many to remember for any mortal. But the name you human beings call me, why I don’t know, is Death, said he and if he had any skin and would have been able to smile, I was sure he would have done it right now."
“You don’t understand why we humans call you Death?, I said, perhaps the wrong thing to focus on right now but I couldn’t resist it."
“No, I do not kill people, I only bring your souls to the other side. There is a big difference you see, even though you people think I am mean and bad. I am the one that brings you peace in your old days, he said."
“The one that dies young then?, I said."
“Well, if I would put it like this. I don’t decide who shall live and who shall die. Your destiny is written long before you are born, though I can sometimes ad some small changes of my own if I would wish so, he said."
Even though at that moment I probably should have been scared, but I wasn’t. I knew he wasn’t here for me, it wasn’t my time yet. So of course he had another purpose for being here, Death didn’t just make social visits on humans. His purpose must be my wish, I smiled at that thought.
“And your purpose for being here? You must be busy, you are Death after all, I said."
“Your wish of course, he said, I am the one who can make it more than a wish. I can make it your reality."
“And of course there is a price to pay, I assume?, I said."
“There is always a price to pay, for every action you do, he said."
“And the price for this little favour is? If I may ask, I said."
“All in good time, Simon, all in good time, he said."
“What is there more to talk about? I said, I will pay practically any price you can imagine. So please, tell me the price."
“Just so your wish doesn’t go wrong, can you tell me it? He said and suddenly there was a big white sheet of paper in his left hand, and in his right hand there was a feather pen."
“I want to be one of the most famous writers in the history of writers, I said seriously, never to be forgotten and always remembered for my good books."
The pen flew from his hand and so did the paper. The pen started to write quickly and then they both flew back to Deaths hands. He read it through, or more glanced at it and then looked up at me.
“I will give you a choice, Simon, he said."
“Of course, a choice, I said."
“In your destiny, your real destiny. You are not a writer, you will never be remembered. But you will be happy and you will live until you die at the age of 94, Death said. But as a mentioned before, I can change some small things."
“So you can change that?, I said hopeful."
“Yes. Yes, I can, he said. If you sign this shed of paper you will be a famous writer, you will be remembered all your life for your work. But you will die alone, in misery at the age of 30, he said."
“Is that all?, I said."
“Think it through carefully Simon, if you sign it, it can never be undone. You will be miserable, alone, never have a family and die young, Death said."
“But if I don’t, I will be forgotten as quick as I am buried, won’t I? I said."
“There is a chance of that happening, yes, he said."
I tried to convince myself to think it trough, think about the choice. As Death had said, it can never be undone. Did I really long for fame that bad, or was it just something I wanted right now? But who was I kidding. I didn’t think it through; as fast Death had finished talking I knew my answer.
“Give me the pen, I said and stretched out my arm."
“And you are absolutely hundred percent sure?, he said, but in his voice was something sneaky, something I didn’t hear."
“Yes, I am sure, I said as he gave me the feather pen."
The shed of paper came floating against me, I grabbed it with a firm hand. Took a deep breath and then signed it. When my signature was written upon then paper it disappeared into thin air, as well as the pen. The room slowly started to regain it’s light, while it appeared that Death slowly disappeared.
“It was a pleasure making business with you, he said, laughed and then disappeared entirely."
“That doesn't sound very good, I said low to myself when he had laughed that peculiar laugh."
Den är inte slut men men x)
I printed the last word and then a dot. I was finally done; three months of hard work had finally paid off. My first real book, it was 256 pages long and I was very proud of it. You might think that I’m about 30 years old perhaps but no. Not even close, yeah well if you split 30 with two then you get my real age. 15. I am fifteen years old and have written a book, how many fifteen year old boys have done that. Not so many I would think. My biggest dream was and is to be a writer, and a famous one. I want to be remembered when I am dead, not forgotten two minutes after my pulse is gone. I really feel I would do literally ANYTHING to be a famous writer. I am not a religious man, not at all. But if there is a God, please do this one little thing for me. How hard can it be, seriously?! Just this one thing and I will shut up forever. I thought to myself all these thoughts and when I had finished there was complete silence. I waited for a sign, just something to say that He had heard me. Then the whole room went dark, and a cold wind was suddenly blowing. There was a damped light in front of me, and suddenly a dark figure appeared before my eyes. He had come from nothing; he had been thin air but was now as alive as I was. I was not sure if this man was of flesh and blood but he was not any prank of my mind, of that I was sure. The man was wearing a black coat, which was covering his whole body. It only took one glance at him and it felt like someone had walked across my grave. There was something wrong with this figure, something unnatural. This figure started to talk, his voice was rough and it sounded like he had not talked for years.
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