Creative Writing

Truth?

There was a storm last night. I was sat with my back to the heater, and I pulled my sleeping bag up over my shoulders. A cold summers night, it only makes sense because I am in London. I wasn’t afraid of the thunder or the lightning nor did I despise the heavy rain. I’d been raised to believe that I should be grateful for the disastrous times, because it would make me appreciate the good. I appreciated the disaster; cherished it even because with it came joys and a great hope.

This storm though, it was different.  It brought something else out from within me. A grim bleakness I wasn’t aware of it but it had been there my whole life long.  I got to thinking, there is a storm going on all around me.

I came to London, because it was the mother of all wealth or so I was told. I found that it was also the most expensive city to live in. I gave up everything to be here. I lost everything when I got here. And for me there is nothing everywhere. But I can’t frown because I was brought up to believe in the silver lining.

I’ve been indoctrinated, because this is bad and this is inhumane and this is not the bright side. There is no bright side. I got to questioning, everything I was raised to believe. Because if they had been wrong about this, they had been wrong about everything. It was up to me to find the truth for my self. Their truth was no longer working for me.

Like, I said there was a storm last night this morning as the sun rises, I rise too. I yell to them thay they were wrong, I scoop up all of my nothingness and I get on the road.

Hello to the rest of my life. My life.

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