Fiction Story Starter 1

I would like to say that my childhood has been normal. In a way it has, in the distant past it was. The school hallways squeaked with the sound of wet converse as everyones else’s did, and grades were just as average as everyone else’s. But it wasn’t the same, the surface of my childhood was simply that, a scratch too shallow for the regular teenage eye. Being bullied at fifteen brought unusual wisdom to my life. it enabled me to see the light of every other situation and the colour in every action i witnessed. my emotions were deeper, more meaningful than the other ones. i could watch the sunset on a hay bale on my fathers farm, bewildered by the beauty of the sun and the sharpness of its rays. i could watch an estranged man cry and my own eyes would well up. i could see the passionate themes in poetry and literature with bright eyes. i could see everything in its own orangey pink light and recognise its art because, in reality, when everyones gone through high school and finished with their emotions, drama and meaningless agitation, in later years they will realise the colours of what people do are more important than any meaningles aesthetic of life.