Narrative Writing
John was only thirteen years old, but to himself he was already a man. He was ready for more responsibility. He was ready to be an adult. Or so he thought. He told himself such things all the time. Things such as how much money he’d have or how big his house would be. All of these things were thoughts that John had convinced himself. All he needed was the freedom to do these things. He needed to be free from school, free from home, from his parents. His parents knew they had an ambitious child but they never knew the extent of his daydreaming. They thought it was a phase, and that he’d grow up and realize some of those things just weren't possible. Not without money. The money that would help put him through college and get him on his feet when he needs help. His parents knew John was ambitious but they’d never do anything to crush his spirits.
John was already thirty-five, but in his mind he wanted nothing more than to be a kid again. He wanted the carefree days he used to have. He looked back on the days that he had wanted nothing more than to grow up. Thoughts about his childhood were becoming more and more frequent. He missed it, and he’d think of the irony in his desires when he’d catch himself day dreaming of his youth. Thirty-five years and he had no freedom. He was an adult but it would always be the same routine for him. Wake up. Put on clothes. Go to work. It would be the same for as long as he could help it. His childhood was full of freedom that he never knew he had until it was too late. He was free from a job. Free from bills. Free from responsibility. John desperately wanted the freedom childhood had given him again.
Jacob was only twenty years old. He looked down at the empty hospital bed that had been occupied by his father only moments before. He thought of his father’s last words. “There are words like freedom that are sweet and wonderful to say.” Jacob thought about this sentence. Was there more to this thought? Was there anything else his father could have given him or said? The words were maddening. He’d spend days thinking about them if he could, but he needed more freedom for—the thought stopped in Jacob’s head. “He wanted more freedom…” Jacob muttered under his breath. It was with this thought that he came up with a thought for his father to be happy, wherever he was. The funeral home was more than happy to oblige. After all, his father had only bought the plot but not the tombstone. Jacob thought about the stories his father had told him about his childhood. With the sinking of the casket into the dark Earth, Jacob felt happier. He looked on at the tombstone with pleasure. For the first time in a long time Jacob had felt freedom. He no longer had to worry about the pain his frail father was feeling. He could focus on how happy his father would be if he could watch his boy grow up. Jacob looked back at the stone before he prepared to leave. ““There are words like freedom that are sweet and wonderful to say. –John.” No last name. Maybe it would inspire others the way it had inspired Jacob. It was more than enough convincing for Jacob to spend as much as his life without worries or responsibilities as possible. His only responsibility was not to his father. His only responsibility was to live free.
John was already thirty-five, but in his mind he wanted nothing more than to be a kid again. He wanted the carefree days he used to have. He looked back on the days that he had wanted nothing more than to grow up. Thoughts about his childhood were becoming more and more frequent. He missed it, and he’d think of the irony in his desires when he’d catch himself day dreaming of his youth. Thirty-five years and he had no freedom. He was an adult but it would always be the same routine for him. Wake up. Put on clothes. Go to work. It would be the same for as long as he could help it. His childhood was full of freedom that he never knew he had until it was too late. He was free from a job. Free from bills. Free from responsibility. John desperately wanted the freedom childhood had given him again.
Jacob was only twenty years old. He looked down at the empty hospital bed that had been occupied by his father only moments before. He thought of his father’s last words. “There are words like freedom that are sweet and wonderful to say.” Jacob thought about this sentence. Was there more to this thought? Was there anything else his father could have given him or said? The words were maddening. He’d spend days thinking about them if he could, but he needed more freedom for—the thought stopped in Jacob’s head. “He wanted more freedom…” Jacob muttered under his breath. It was with this thought that he came up with a thought for his father to be happy, wherever he was. The funeral home was more than happy to oblige. After all, his father had only bought the plot but not the tombstone. Jacob thought about the stories his father had told him about his childhood. With the sinking of the casket into the dark Earth, Jacob felt happier. He looked on at the tombstone with pleasure. For the first time in a long time Jacob had felt freedom. He no longer had to worry about the pain his frail father was feeling. He could focus on how happy his father would be if he could watch his boy grow up. Jacob looked back at the stone before he prepared to leave. ““There are words like freedom that are sweet and wonderful to say. –John.” No last name. Maybe it would inspire others the way it had inspired Jacob. It was more than enough convincing for Jacob to spend as much as his life without worries or responsibilities as possible. His only responsibility was not to his father. His only responsibility was to live free.