kips
02-25-2006, 01:43 AM
Chapter One
Begin
Someone once told me that you can't exist without affecting everyone in the world. I never udnerstood that, and Istill don't. But I think I have an idea what they meant and I could be wrong or I could be right, but all that matters right now is that i tell you what happened. Im telling you in case it happens again. You should be waiting. Don't ask what for, just be prepared. Because there will be another me. Another Unguarded will return and tha will be your second chance. Your last chance. So be prepared and listen. If you do nothing else, then just listen. Because even without you knowing, I have affected you.
I will start, as a lot of stories do, at the beginning, although the beginning is unclear. I will begin where I did becasue this is the story of me, The First Unguarded. So I will begin on the seventh of June 1977, in a small apartment just off the coast of Essex to a recently bereaved mother named Susanne Johnson. She had no family to speak of, apart from a deranged mother in an old persons home somewhere in Wales. The night I was born it rained heavilly, which my mum always used to tell me. She used to say it was like a homage and that I was her blessing. Not that she was religious or anything, quite the opposite, she was strongly athiest and I don't know what impact that had on me. Although it must have had some because everyone affects everyone else, even when they don't want to. It's our curse I suppose, that amoung other things.
I grew up in the secluded area with my mother, who seemed hell-bent on raising me "well". But she juggled a job as well and so I was often left by myself once I reached about seven. I went to the local school and the children there hated me. They never said it but I knew. I know now that you hate me, for instance. You hate me for the one thing that I cannot change. i am unguarded and you hate that. But I should carry on with what I was saying, there isn't much time but, since I would appear to be insane, that means nothing to me. It's funny, if only they knew how much time means to me. I udnerstand it a lot better than they, I just choose to use it differently.
My mother at times would seem so determined to make me hapy that when I wasn't she refused to believe it was real. In that sense, I began to wonder if there was such a thing as living. It's funny, I may be crazy but by the age of ten I was already searching beyond human emotion. I became a despondant child, I would frequently drift into a subconscious daydream and my teachers became afraid, often angry. The other children stayed away from me, they didn't want me to play with them, and I didn't want to play. I began to think at around this time, that I had to escape quickly, not play games but live how life was. It was not beautiful or ugly, hateful or loving, it simpley was. The final word of life was still hidden, yet I had complete faith that I would one day find it out.
Is this radical thinking for a ten year old Essex boy? Perhaps.... or maybe it is a product of a deranged mind. Well, that's unimporant, so perhaps we should carry on with the story. That way, you can emerse yourself in "real life" rather than what is true. That would be too much for you...
Okay, people tell me what you think so far!
Begin
Someone once told me that you can't exist without affecting everyone in the world. I never udnerstood that, and Istill don't. But I think I have an idea what they meant and I could be wrong or I could be right, but all that matters right now is that i tell you what happened. Im telling you in case it happens again. You should be waiting. Don't ask what for, just be prepared. Because there will be another me. Another Unguarded will return and tha will be your second chance. Your last chance. So be prepared and listen. If you do nothing else, then just listen. Because even without you knowing, I have affected you.
I will start, as a lot of stories do, at the beginning, although the beginning is unclear. I will begin where I did becasue this is the story of me, The First Unguarded. So I will begin on the seventh of June 1977, in a small apartment just off the coast of Essex to a recently bereaved mother named Susanne Johnson. She had no family to speak of, apart from a deranged mother in an old persons home somewhere in Wales. The night I was born it rained heavilly, which my mum always used to tell me. She used to say it was like a homage and that I was her blessing. Not that she was religious or anything, quite the opposite, she was strongly athiest and I don't know what impact that had on me. Although it must have had some because everyone affects everyone else, even when they don't want to. It's our curse I suppose, that amoung other things.
I grew up in the secluded area with my mother, who seemed hell-bent on raising me "well". But she juggled a job as well and so I was often left by myself once I reached about seven. I went to the local school and the children there hated me. They never said it but I knew. I know now that you hate me, for instance. You hate me for the one thing that I cannot change. i am unguarded and you hate that. But I should carry on with what I was saying, there isn't much time but, since I would appear to be insane, that means nothing to me. It's funny, if only they knew how much time means to me. I udnerstand it a lot better than they, I just choose to use it differently.
My mother at times would seem so determined to make me hapy that when I wasn't she refused to believe it was real. In that sense, I began to wonder if there was such a thing as living. It's funny, I may be crazy but by the age of ten I was already searching beyond human emotion. I became a despondant child, I would frequently drift into a subconscious daydream and my teachers became afraid, often angry. The other children stayed away from me, they didn't want me to play with them, and I didn't want to play. I began to think at around this time, that I had to escape quickly, not play games but live how life was. It was not beautiful or ugly, hateful or loving, it simpley was. The final word of life was still hidden, yet I had complete faith that I would one day find it out.
Is this radical thinking for a ten year old Essex boy? Perhaps.... or maybe it is a product of a deranged mind. Well, that's unimporant, so perhaps we should carry on with the story. That way, you can emerse yourself in "real life" rather than what is true. That would be too much for you...
Okay, people tell me what you think so far!