Sometimes We All Need A Little Help
I killed a spider today. But as I killed it I thought about how it was just murder, really. I
guess that’s life; squishing the little things because they don’t look or act like us. Maybe that’s
dramatic. According to my mother, I’m “too dramatic for my own good.” I guess she’s
right. Actually, I wonder what she’s been right or wrong about a lot lately…
James paused from his notebook scribbling as an older gentlemen sat down on the bench
beside him. He grinned awkwardly through his mess of brown hair but was unable to make
“Em…hello.” James tried.
“Humph!” The man grumbled and angled himself away.
Awkward. My life coach is always telling me that I need to approach others instead of
waiting to be approached.
James lifted his head from his writing and peered around the park. He lingered a little too
long on the old man again and received a disgruntled glare for it.
Weird. Why is it that some people in this world take an immediate dislike to you? I hate
that. I sometimes think everyone could like me if they just go to know me. It makes me feel
sick to my stomach when I know someone hates me. I hate that.
Resting his pen, he took a deep breath of spring air and tried to hold onto it as long as
possible. The old man cleared his throat and readjusted his coat closer to his body. James
took this opportunity to take in his wardrobe: a cliché tattered wool cap paired with a long
deep grey coat that crinkled in the pockets–from cough drop wrappers, no doubt. James
quickly focused on his notebook again once the adjustment was over.
I hate the thought of being old. Something about all the wrinkles, pains and smelly clothes
just makes it obvious why every old fart is ridiculously crotchety and
“WHAT ARE YOU SCRIBBLING IN THAT NOTEBOOK FOR BOY?!”
James jerked wildly, spilling his pen and notebook to the pavement. As he fumbled with
retrieving his items, a small wav