Sunday, 23 March 2014

the back of textbooks

I was about five when I knew all I ever wanted to do was write stories. I hated school, to the point where my mother couldn’t physically drag me, I’d be screaming and crying, choking: I hated it. I hated being stuck behind four walls being dictated to, when all I wanted to do was write my stories. I did learn however that exchanging one set of four walls for another wouldn’t do any good, education lay in one and education would lead to escape. I took every opportunity slim though they were, I worked hard, became determined, ambitious. The back of every text book I ever had in school was filled with pages of stories I would be sneakily writing in at every opportunity. It’s quite simply my natural instinct. I don’t have anything else.

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