"Oh!" Thought provoking," he said, catching on immediately. "Interesting, good style, well controlled. Yeah, I liked it."
That was one of the biggest ego boosts I’ve had in a long time. I respect this man beyond most others in the school, and he was glad to see I was still writing. He had asked me, earlier this year, if I did. When I answered yes, he said he’d like to read some of it one day. I handed him this. Excuse the background, but the colour is necessary.]
The boy picked up a pen and began to
write. He frowned as the ink came out a dull ruby.
“Oh no no no, this will not do,” he
said, and closed his eyes to concentrate. He opened them again and set the pen
to the page.
“Much better,” he smiled, the ink a
rich azure. He continued to write about the aerodynamics that allowed emus to
There was a knock at the door, but
the boy didn’t want to get up without finishing his story, so he closed his
eyes and concentrated. When he opened them again, there was no door to knock
“The architects of this house would
be very grumpy,” he thought to himself. “At least they can’t fix it now- after
all, it is my house.” He nodded
decisively and returned to his novel.
‘And the emu ruffled its feathers,
and took to the sky.’ And the boy saw that it was good.
Outside his room, the boy’s parents continued to knock and
call his name with concern.
“Honey, can you come down for dinner?” No reply.
“He’s still in his own little world,” his father said
proudly. “Let’s leave our little genius to it,” he smiled, putting his arms
around his wife and leading her away.