Alphabetti Spaghetti

This is something I wrote as a speed writing task, completed in about 2 hrs. Done out of boredom, a friend and I decided to write a short story about one another. I like it for sentimental value, but looking back on it it seems a teeny bit random now.
I gave him it and he liked it. Saying that, I never got mine...

My fingers drummed quietly on the desk, tapping away, breaking the silence in the tiny, uniformly dull room. This was hardly the place for inspiration, was it? That is what I was trying to be- inspired. Inspiring. I was doing this very much against my will and found the task I had been set ironic considering circumstances. I felt like I had been trapped, that I had been chased down to the waters edge and there was nothing to do now but swim. I could do that now. I had been sinking, drowning, panicking but now I understood I had the confidence to swim into uncharted waters. I did not want to blank out my past- some of it maybe. Definitely. But not all. They were all pieces of the jigsaw and the more that was missing, the harder it was to see anything of what it was originally. My flaws had seemed so prominent before. So important. The things than had been picked up on straight away- that had singled me out, made me different and to me, then, difference was a bad thing.

I had had an image of myself stuck in the back of my mind, I was wearing a hat. It was a big, pointy hat- cone shaped and rolled out of a large sheet of brown sugar paper. On the front of this brown, cone shaped hat was a letter, inked on in thick, black, permanent pen- you couldn’t miss it. You couldn’t miss me. It was a D. It didn’t stand for Dunce. The hat sat just above my eyebrows, thick, dark and unmistakably Italian. They made me stand out. That is what people saw- not the D. They’ve never, ever seen the D. All that time, they were looking at the eyebrows and I had thought they were all staring at the D. All I could think about was that huge D- looming above me like a big black cloud, always waiting for me, waiting catch me outside without an umbrella.

I warmed to people: I was liked for being quirky, being myself, unafraid of what the future would bring or what situations my freedom of expression would get me into. Saying what I thought was one of my fortes, and I was not always liked for it, but honesty was simpler in the long run. And when you were like me, you could afford to turn away a lot. Only with a select few I could be me. Inside and out. I could deal with short term consequences by hiding away in my own little world. My world that had often been so dark, it was lighter now but more often than not, gray clouds were looming.

Your mind is ticking over, I can tell, it’s thinking about that D, what it means. I’m good at things like that- reading people- I’m good with words too but its tricky sometimes to get it onto paper. My writing is like art, those with the untrained eye don’t always see what I see in it. I see expression and intellect flowing off the page, a canvas bursting with emotion and beauty, but all they  is squirming worms wriggling around the page, illegible- in their opinion. But that’s ok. I can read it, it’s probably best they can’t. They wouldn’t understand the words anyway. They weren’t written for them.

And as for what I was writing, sat at that desk that day, I was writing for those people who still have D hats covering their eyebrows, some with it slipping over their eyes, to help them see the wood from the trees.

As A is for Anton and Alex and Art and B is for Boy and for Brave. As C is for Cassanova and Cowboy and Cause, D is for Dyslexic. I could go on, but there would be no point. You could judge me on those nine words, forty- eight letters, seventeen syllables or I could give you twenty-six letters and my definitions- the whole alphabet. But until we meet you will be no closer to understanding me- I am unique.

The End

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