All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
You've Got to be Kidding Me
Author's note: Um...I'm giving it a shot. I hope you like it.
To set it straight, that day was normal for me. Well, normal ever since the day I changed.
The flashback is so startingly clear, I even admit, it still gives me nightmares. And it takes alot to scare me.
I was ten at the time. It was two years after I witnessed my parents' deaths. Yeah, I know, but life's not perfect. I was on the beach, trying to skip a rock. I sucked monkey butt at skipping rocks, and was getting frustrated at myself. I mean, why could't I skip a rock!? What was up with that!? I thought it was totally bogus, being a ten-year old and angerily gave up, sitting on the sandy shore.
They thought it was good for me to be at the beach, where the sun always shined. Problem was, the sun wasn't shining that day. I could care less where they wanted me to be. For once, I wanted to be asked. It was always "Oh, Zach wouldn't like it there..." or"Zach would love meeting you!". Wasn't the point of the whole "raising a troubled kid" deal to ask what the troubled kid wanted? I didn't understand alot of things back then; heck, I still don't understand alot of things now.
The thing that snapped me out of my frustration was the sharp pat pats of someone walking on the sand. I jerked my head up, curious.
It was a tall guy. He walked in qucik strides, like he was in a fast walk marathon. I stood up as he approached, not even afraid. Back then, I was a ten year old of steel.
Once he got closer, I noticed what he was wearing. A typical outfit for the beach; khaki shorts, a flowered t-shirt. He even had the sandals to tie tit all together. He was about thirtyfive-ish; ancient to me at the time. His eyes were the color of the palm trees; sharp and green. Oddly enough, his hair was a light dusty red. My brows furrowed.
"Who are you?" I asked, puffing my chest out. The man chuckled.
"You're Zach." He replied, his green eyes twinkling. I stuck my lip out.
"thank you, Captain Obvious." I sneered. I was also pretty sarcastic back then; that hasn't changed."But I was asking who you were." I repeated. I hated when adults acted stupid like that. Alot. He chuckled again, an annoying adult chuckle.
"I'm Mr.Harrison. Pleasure to meet you." He held out a sunkissed hand, but I just stared at it, not even borthering to touch it. So he was another "Mr." Which was the same thing as "a guy who wants me to talk about me feelings". I huffed.
"Okay, Mr.Harrision." I acknowledged."I'm not going to talk, so you can just leave." Instead of wrinkling his nose or nodding and staying there, he chuckled his annoying chuckle again.
"Alright. There's no need to talk. I'll be on me way." and just like that, he walked off, leaving me confused. I tilted my head, gazing as he pat patted away, his sandals leaving prints in the sand. I was tempted to follow him, but fought against it. I knew this tactic. It was tried on me before, and when I fell for it, the guy demanded feelings from me. But still, I was ten. Reckless. you get the drift.
I followed Mr.Harrision, curious. He walked into a nearby surfer's shack and me, being the brave little kid I was, marched in too.
Nothing stood out in the shack; maybe the pretty looking cashier, but I was focused on Mr.Harrison, who vanished in a back room. Discreetly, I made my way into the room.
There was a strong odor of fish, which instantly caused me to wrinkle my nose. to this day, I hate fish. Anything that was touched by the ocean. Stacks of wooden boxes were labeled with red. I was too distracted to notice anything else. Mr.Harrison's flowered shirt stuck out like a fart at church.
Slowly, I snuck up on him. Fast as lightening, I remembered seeing his deep blue ocean eyes, then black.
I could go on, continue about the pain, his annoying chuckle. But my flashback was interupted by Agatha.
"Hey, Zach? You need something?" she asked, snapping her fingers impatiently in front of me. I looked at Agatha.
She was gving me her typical look, her pink lip slightly jutting out. Her earphone dangled like a white thread, a strange contrast to her dark short hair. A veil slightly covered her soft toned skin, but her brown eyes were expectant. A smile crawled across my face.
"I do, in fact, need something, Agatha." I answered.
Thus, my little story begins.