Dakota
This is an semi-recent writing that I started in the library at about 3:00 AM one morning. Should I continue to work on it, or leave it be?
Some people are blessed with certain gifts, some with others. Dakota Turner was blessed with gifts unusual from most. He was the child who enjoyed company of friends more than family, the teen who enjoyed selflessness for the reward of a clean conscious, the man who enjoyed a simple life of a brooder. He was his best friend and being alone was the pastime he dreamt about. He was burned out on analyzing the fake personalities of some, and determining the real personality of the rest. In a world where past is long gone, present is past, and the future is now, Dakota fit in perfectly.
Two thousand one brought about a rough winter for the small self-contained town that its population was held captive in. Everyone knew it, too afraid to admit, that life in Prescott was one of repetitive, banausic dejection. The lifestyle of Prescott was not considered so by the many families whose children never left. Often the human brain denies pity in an attempt to also deny opportunity and action, which was precisely the definition of the town’s mindset. However, time has no pity. Time has no appreciation for the could-haves and the would-haves that we fall back to. The past holds appropriate evidence of time’s disregard for even a smidgen of contingency.
Some people are blessed with certain gifts, some with others. Dakota Turner was blessed with gifts unusual from most. He was the child who enjoyed company of friends more than family, the teen who enjoyed selflessness for the reward of a clean conscious, the man who enjoyed a simple life of a brooder. He was his best friend and being alone was the pastime he dreamt about. He was burned out on analyzing the fake personalities of some, and determining the real personality of the rest. In a world where past is long gone, present is past, and the future is now, Dakota fit in perfectly.
Two thousand one brought about a rough winter for the small self-contained town that its population was held captive in. Everyone knew it, too afraid to admit, that life in Prescott was one of repetitive, banausic dejection. The lifestyle of Prescott was not considered so by the many families whose children never left. Often the human brain denies pity in an attempt to also deny opportunity and action, which was precisely the definition of the town’s mindset. However, time has no pity. Time has no appreciation for the could-haves and the would-haves that we fall back to. The past holds appropriate evidence of time’s disregard for even a smidgen of contingency.
posted by jtw at 9:42 PM
3 Comments:
continue it
It's good. Keep going
KONTEINYOU IHT
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