Mr. Hyot

My first story in creative writing class. It follows a man reflecting on his life choices. There's about five writings from this class that are focused on fiction.

Mr. Hoyt

Ye who read this is among the living; but I who write shall have long since gone my way into the region of shadows. So while I force my body into this cold, hollow library, and watch as the minutes tick by, I have to ask myself, what will I have left behind? Has it helped? I only ever want to help those like my family, defending them from the people of the neighborhood. However, most of the time, my attempts to speak out are unsuccessful. Too quiet, loud, or some-what gurgled, my attempts are usually seen as whining, ending in more screeching and fights. For everyone's sake, I hope I improve.

 What writings do I want to leave behind? Ideas throb in my head, but I never seem to find the time to get anything down, having to spend every waking second sprinting through this deserted, trash covered city. Between my cramped school, with my teachers who can’t seem to keep their eyes open, to the apple farm where my tiny family slaves away. 

 Which brings me to the question of, “Who will be with me when I die?”Maybe I won't have anyone left, choosing to dream away the last of my time in a hospital bed. My boss is a small, elderly man, with a raspy voice. He hardly speaks except for when he discovers any damage at work, accidental or not. Then there’s the Hoyts, my family. Lanna is my older sister, who can’t seem to leave the house without getting screamed at by the people of this place. My mom exists too, with her bedroom door becoming dusty from how little it gets opened. When they let me, I try my best to take care of them. All these faces that I’ve worked hard to memorize are far older, will soon turn more wrinkled, and I worry I won't even recognize them. I don’t know if I’ll still care for them. Hope I do.

Thinking about this while I’m young is a mistake. But how can I not when the streets are constantly shaking from the destruction on every corner? However, excluding my personal life doesn't help, I get to learn every day of more reasons why our world is currently boiling. I just have to hope I'm able to break free from these thoughts, because I know one day I’m going to be watching those minutes tick by, realizing I’ve wasted almost a third of my time watching a clock. But I’ll never stop to appreciate who I have, what I've accomplished, and what stories I still have yet to make.