Black Hole of Letters | Teen Ink

Black Hole of Letters

October 20, 2016
By akell20 SILVER, New York, New York
akell20 SILVER, New York, New York
7 articles 0 photos 0 comments

My name is a car with broken brakes. It never stops. It is the ink that falls off the side of the page. The third person in a groups that’s meant to be two. It’s the astronaut that detached from the ship, stuck in one big black hole of letters.

Grade eleven. New school. Military father. Things for Mom were hard.In times like these, my mom was a ‘ Wise Man’ , following a single star that seemed to shine quite a bit brighter than the rest. Ms. Unnamed Phillips was one of my mom’s school’s very finest. She (being Ms. Phillips was pretty, popular and kind; or hat least had enough decency to show my Mom the ways of life at their school.

Life progresses, as does time, thirteen times around the sun had passed before my parents’ wedding news was announced. My mom went into a wedding dress designer’s store with an idea for a perfect dress and came out with a beautiful half priced dress, that had been named a very long name. I do wish she had chosen a dress with perhaps a 4 four letter name instead of the seven digit dress she chose.

When I was eight years old, I decided to drop a plate on the ground.. It split into a couple pieces. I realized that I really liked breaking things. So, I broke a couple vases, some chairs, a few lamps. I even discovered that I could break more that just a physical item. The very last thing I broke in my rebellious spree was my name. Broken in two. My name was now four letters instead of seven.

When adults say my name, to them it is calm, sensible, practical. To them it is like dropping a penny in a pool, only a few rippled surface. To me, it is like a tornado crushing everything in it’s path. I guess it’s somewhat elegant but for now it just feels like an extra weight I have to carry around. Sometimes I think of my name as my Kryptonite, but then I get around to realizing that a name is just writing on a page. With that knowledge, I revise what I first said about my name. My name is not a car with broken breaks, it is simply just pen on paper. It will never dictate who I am or whom I want to be. I am the boss of my name, because I am the one that holds the pen and writes on the paper.



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