I’m taking a page out of Kristy Colley’s book today and trying out the whole “not editing” before I show someone some of my writing. We’ll see how this goes. This is what I assume is going to be the introduction the new story that’s popped into my head as of late…you know, NOT the story I’m supposed to be editing. I love how it always happens that way. I don’t have a title for this yet, so for now it’s just Untitled Green Shoes…because that’s all I can think of spur of the moment. I’m awesome, I know.
Here you have it:
I know you’ll think I’m crazy. They all do. I’m not stupid, or naive. I hear them whisper in darkened corners and in the light of day they smile with all the fakeness of doctors in a psych ward. Crazy. Mental. Delusional. I’ve heard it all. So I’ve stopped telling them. They think this means I’ve stopped, but really, it’s only gotten worse. Or better.
But, I think, I should tell someone. Anyone who’d listen. And I mean really listen, not that pretend listen they do because I’m only 16 and what do I really know about the world anyway? A whole lot more than they can ever imagine, I say. They smile and pat my hand gently. Yes, crazy. That seems to be the very best word.
Haven’t you ever felt something so intensely that you know it’s real? They just don’t know how to see it. Or believe it. Maybe they don’t want to. Or never knew how. Maybe it’s best I keep it a secret from them. From everyone.
You see, the thing is, I time travel.
I’m not talking about using a flux capacitor or a DeLorean or anything like that. It’s much more simple than I think anyone has ever realized. Except, I don’t really know how it all works. I close my eyes and I can go places. When I was younger it was harder and I couldn’t really choose where I traveled, but now I think I have the hang of it. I can pretty much go where I want.
Sure, I’ve noticed that the places I’ve been to are much easier on my body (time traveling does make you fatigued), but I like traveling somewhere new, even if it is exhausting.
Today I’m feeling rather tired, so luckily for me, this isn’t my first time to England. In fact, I think it may be my favorite of all the places I’ve traveled. London is much too smelly for me this time of year, but the countryside is nice.
Today is a special day for me. I’m with Henry.
You’d think I’d never fit in, but no one seems to notice. Strolling down the cobblestone streets of what I can only guess is 18th century Oxford, a modern day American should stick out like a sore thumb. I should be hanging by a noose somewhere with people shouting, “Witch!” “Witch!”
But they just walk by.