The First Story I Wrote

I was maybe 7 or 8 years old when I wrote my first short story.

It was a “nice” story about a boy who finds a way into an alien ship and discovers something that makes him question everything he has ever experienced or seen. 2 days later I tore apart the page on which I wrote it and threw it away in the trash.

When I finished writing it, I was excited and showed it to everyone, but nobody read it, not a single person read it. Instead, I got these suspicious looks and replies that I can not write stories, and kids of my age cannot write stories, it must be a copy. At that moment I was not sad or angry; I was just disappointed.

All these years later I now understand, I am the boy in that story, the story was about me, this me, the future me. Maybe the scenario was fictional but the journey was a forecast of what was going to happen to me.

I still remember every bit of that story, still, I will never rewrite it. It is a memorandum. A burn.

It makes me sad thinking about it. Now When I write stories and they get published in big magazines, those people who mocked me on my first story, now ‘cheer’ me. Ludicrous!