Journal Entry One

April 1, 2010
By Steele BRONZE, Fremont, Nebraska
Steele BRONZE, Fremont, Nebraska
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"The unexamined life is not worth living." Socrates

Hi, my name is Zin. No last name. No middle name. Just Zin. Confused? So am I. Right now I’m sitting in my room, if you can call it that, writing this journal. The Doc said that it would be best for me if I detailed the events that are taking place in my life. He said it had something to do with creating a sort of organized life for me. I am twelve years old, I think, and I’m an orphan, the same as most of the world. I don’t know who my “parents” were, if you can call them that. I grew up on the streets of New York, or what’s left of it after what happened. The year is 2060; at least that’s what we all think. It is now 18 years after the revolution. The word on the street is that around twenty or so years ago, a revolution took place where a large group of anarchists led a revolt against all organized governments across the globe. Yeah, that’s right, I used the word anarchist. The Doc tells me that way back when, a twelve year old like me wouldn’t know what an anarchist was, but ever since the revolution, it is a term we learn as soon as we can talk. That is what the world has come to the Doc told me, although to me it’s more like that is how the world is, what I’ve come to know. I have grown up in a world of anarchy, full of chaos and confusion, but the Doc tells me that is all going to change, and that I will be the one to change it. It’s all so hard to understand. My mind is racing with all the possibilities. The room I’m in is so different than what I’m used to. It’s all so, what’s the word, clean. One of the few constants in my life has been the terrible conditions that so many of us live in, but in here, there isn’t a single thing in disarray. The floors are swept, tables cleaned, books organized on a bookshelf, trash in the trash container. It feels as if I’m in another world. As I sit here in, alone, writing this journal, I feel as if I’m being watched. It wouldn’t surprise me, they say I’m rare, that I’m special, but why? I don’t know. As I think back to how this all began a few days ago, I guess it can best be described using an old expression. It all started when I met this girl.

The author's comments:
My sister kept bugging me about writing something new for her to read so this is what i came up with. it's just a start, she liked it, and i hope you do too. enjoy.

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