The Stories

Short writing piece I wrote on what I believe, hope you like it

The mind, the fathoms guarded waters with its guarded memories it holds and the different threads of connection to life it grasps. I believe the mind is the author of all the stories of this world and I believe to understand this world we have to listen to the stories. I picture this concept by going into my own mind. I go into the darkness of my mind, everything is chilled yet calmed. I plunge into its depth and follow the different memories I have. Some random thoughts that move freely of their own accord and way, and the others were in one place and I knew without a doubt were where my stories were.

I plunged even further to where my stories were and this time the darkness began to materialize ribbons of colors. The threads envelope me all around and turned into a vivid surrounding. Everything around me had a strange aura of color around it and seemed to emit from everything. The road of ash black seemed to be truckeeway, the road near my house, and upwards from the ribbon of black a neon green grass hill was floating like a harmless giant near it. I hold my breath and different scenes race by.

I turn around to see a car crash and the out of body smell of rubble and smoke on the west side of the street. It’s then I remember the accident of one of my parents and the moral it gave me, don’t take anything for granite. I turn away to see the hill going upwards seeming to eat the sky. Without any effort I climb up and out towards a white washed building. I remember going into a church of white wash after the accident and gaining something of knowing that there is something beyond this world. I look at the cream baby blue sky up from the church and another thing came to me. “I believe, I believe, I believe….”

It was only a whisper from the velvet wind that came down from that sky and blanketed around me. Of course it was my own voice but it seemed different, probably because it was part of the vivid background.

“Oh yes I believe…” it went on. “… No matter how old you are or how the wind of memories whines around, everyone still has a story. Oh yes, a story to tell in our own vivid imagination and background. I believe to look, read, and listen to what everyone has to say. Who knows, one or everyone might hold the key of a better life.”

The background washes away in a huge color of smudge. I look around at the room that was outside of the concrete walls of the mind. I remember those entire stories that gave a moral or showed events and pictures in different colors of the spectrum of light inside my mind that took place in my life. I was then struck with blue lighting of realization. The realization came when I remember all the different stories I read in my life, “The Book Thief,” “The Stand,” “the Chronicles of Narnia,” and all their different ideas.

“I know what I believe of all the hard concepts and troubles of this world.” I said to myself believing to go mad. “I believe that our mind is also complicated along with those troubles, with all its mixed up words and thoughts. But I believe if we listen to every story of the soul and put the words together, we might just be able to make out a solution for those troubles. But our mind also compromises memories for its story so, in turn, we have to compromise to make everything work in motion.”

In short, I believe if we listen and work together and listen to facts in the stories of our mind we could have a clearer future for everyone in this world. So don’t let those waters be guarded, but instead to flow freely for all!

-Josef Edwards

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