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The Forgotten Stories

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No Title, Just a Story

To be honest, I’m tired of writing fiction. I’m tired of all the drafts and scratch-outs and wasted ink. I waste that ink for nothing. Not too many people read the stories that I post on this site. They should.

I love my stories. A typical author would say that he writes for the love of writing. But I say this; why should I write if nobody is going to read it? What is the point? Why should I fill my stories with symbolism and themes, whether they are religious, punk, happy, or sad themes? Why should I write about themes if nobody will take the time to get anything from them?

I guess I have to write my own themes in real life through my actions. That’s why I decided to post this story on here. Maybe, just maybe, somebody will find this article and read it. Maybe they’ll hear my story without a title and appreciate it. Maybe they’ll pick up the moral, if there is any, and take a stand. Maybe, just maybe, I can make a difference in somebody’s life.

Or maybe, this article is just a hard confession. You see, my parents know nothing about this story that I am about to tell you. It is something that truly happened, but I am too ignorant (or possibly scared) to tell them, or anyone else for that matter. Maybe, if this article becomes popular enough, they’ll read it and ask me questions and I’ll have to tell them the story from my own mouth, not from the computer.

You see, when I was little, there was a kid that lived down the street. He still does live down the street. We were best friends. We hung out all day, every day. But things got in the way and our friendship was broken up. We still see each other at school, still talk a bit, but nothing much more. He used to be a loud mouth around me. Always saying random stuff to me, trying to impress his friends. I thought it was all fun and games.

But this past year, I found out that he does drugs. Serious drugs. And alcohol. And other stuff, if you know what I mean. Brags about it at school, acting like he’s so cool. Although, I’m conditioned to it. There are a lot of low-lives that brag about that kind of stuff at school. I just sit back and watch. It truly does bother me, it’s just that I’m too…..I don’t know…..scared, ignorant, lazy…… to openly say anything about it unless they directly ask me about it. Then I’ll stand up.

I’m sixteen and have never smoked. Never will. I’ve never drank except for a sip of wine every week at Mass. Kids at school know that I’m clean. Sure, I get made fun of by the low-lives, but I can handle it. I know that it is the right thing to do. I just hope that one day, they’ll grow up and realize that I’m doing the right thing and appreciate me for it.

Anyways, back to the real story. Hot Shot, thinks he’s cool, brags about his illegal activities. He knows that I know about his dealings. Well, one day during this past summer, my friend and I were hanging out on my porch. Talking, joking, whatever. Hot Shot walks over here and asks to talk to my friend privately. They walk away and start whispering. I thought nothing of it. He flashes some money. I thought Hot Shot was trying to buy something from him, maybe some video games.

My friend went inside and Hot Shot waited around in my yard. My friend came back out and said that he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t do it? What was he talking about? Hot Shot looked agitated and then asked to talk to me. So I talked to him.

I walked over.

“What’s up?”

“Dude, I need you to pee in a bag so I can pass a drug test for football. My parents are suspicious of me. My mom will be home any minute now to take me to the doctor. Can you pee for me?”

What? Sorry, I did not register. Too much info, never been asked that before. Football is his life. He loves to play football. But he also loves drugs. Should I give him another shot?

“I promise I’ll never take drugs again. I already stopped smoking. Please?”

I hardly believed his statement, but I felt sorry for him. Should I give him one more chance? It would be my one chance to be cool, to make a new friend, to get anything I want in school, maybe blackmail him……

The thought passed my mind. But I could not go against my morals. My Catholic morals that I have been raised with since I was born. Should I give in to him or make a stand?

Sheepishly, I said, “I don’t know.”

No answer, just a general statement. I couldn’t think straight.

“Come on, please? My mom’s coming home. I need to pass this. It’s football, it’s my life. I’ll pay you ten bucks.”

He flashes me a bill. A stronger notion to give in to him crossed my mind.

“Come on, you’ll eventually have to pee. Can you just do it for me?”

Good point.

Finally, “Sorry, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just….I don’t know, it’s just…just not right.”

“Come on!”

“Mmmmm…no. Sorry.”

A couple minutes of bickering later, he finally went home, scared to death and extremely mad at me. I spent the rest of the day thinking over my decision to turn him down. Ten bucks is a serious offer for taking a simple pee. But I couldn’t. Neither could my friend, he just didn’t want to be straightforward about it to Hot Shot. He wanted to give Hot Shot a bit of sarcasm and false security.

Anyways, I later found out that he got someone else to do it for him. Wow. What an idiot.

I never told my parents or anyone else. Just me and my friend. We both know that it is wrong to help an addict pass a test. We could have been busted. The cons outweighed the pros. We know that we did the right thing, it’s just too complicated to explain the conflict that was raging in our minds.

But, it still is something to think about. What if I would’ve given in? Would I be “cool?” What if I got busted? Would I be expelled from school? What would my parents think of me? How would I live with the embarrassment? Or what if I did blackmail him?

All of these questions and many others still cross my mind today, a few months later. Hot Shot still does drugs. He hasn’t made any big changes. But I have noticed one thing. Ever since I turned him down, he has been quieter around me. More conserved, more watchful. I wonder, does he respect me more because of my decision? Does he honestly, deep down inside, respect me because I turned him down?

I can only hope that he does. I still feel good about my decision today, maybe more so. I am respected because I turned down someone who needed me to pass a drug test for him. I am respected. That is a million times better than being “cool.”

But, I am still too scared to make a huge stand. I’m too afraid to stand up to these low-lives, too afraid to rat them out. I could. But I can’t. There are way too many drug addicts out there. I’m outnumbered, I’m afraid of the immediate consequences.

Geez, I would be a bad war general. I’m afraid to fight the good fight. I’ll never win. Too many drug addicts. The fight would never end. That’s why I named this article why I did. I can’t create a title until I finish the story. But the story will never end. There will always be drugs, alcohol, sex, bad people. Odds are, there will never be peace. But we can still try to beat those odds.

Like I said earlier in this story, I don’t know if there is a moral. Stories don’t need morals. They need motivation. Or do they? I was motivated to pee in a bag for ten dollars, but I still didn’t do it. Maybe motivation isn’t the answer. Morals just tell you something, they don’t make you do anything. I need this story to have something else. That something else lies inside of YOU, the reader. Do you have the will power to stand up? Can you beat the bad motivations and keep the good ones? Do you know the moral? Will you fight with me?

You see, I will be the general if need be. I just need an army to fight alongside me. I need people to speak up to me so that I can speak up to the drug addicts. I need you guys that are reading this. If you honestly, truly want to fight the good fight, then please, comment and tell me to stand up. Maybe, just maybe, we can win a few battles, just like I did on that warm summer day when me and my friend were just hanging out.

Oh yeah, another thing. Don't criticize my spelling and grammar. Frankly, I don't care if my grammar is bad. I don't care that I didn't indent my paragraphs. I don't care that I misspelled some words. I wrote this article in a hour at most. It's not meant to be perfect. It's meant to tell a story. I wrote it from the heart. I love writing, I still will write, even if people don't read it. I am a typical author that is trying to make a stand.
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