You know every week you made you way down here, sit with a hot tea and some homemade biscuits, so then we start talk like those who had live for thousand years.
Sometimes even I surprise where I got those stories from, they are just there, some from my own experiences, some from others, or might even can be nowhere. When I was 8 I discovered this thing, things I heard will become my own memory pieces and every night I will dream about those pieces together, then I will had my own experiences on the next morning.
Awesomeness I said, that was back then. It then develop double the troubles I had. People start question my behaviours because I know things some elderly don’t even know, I can handle some unusual situations much smoothly than others around my age. And so on people start look at me in a different way. So I start shut myself up, at those corners kind of thing.
Then I start doing the story they called them lie. Lie about my school lie about the lies between other lies; I didn’t realise lies are bad but they seems cove my butt off for the time being so I was quiet please. I was really good about it.
For some reason I stop those lie as I realise they are not real enough, or maybe they are not powerful enough to make people believe what I had been experienced from what I heard and dreamed about. I start putting all the elements into different stories; the stories help me grow and become the word they call now stronger.
So here is your last glass of red, the chocolate box is empty now and my story is almost come to the end, now tell me kindly, what’s your story.