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Not Your Average Fairy-Tale Ending Rachael Gray Hawk I have to keep telling myself that everything changes. That I can’t keep running the same track expecting something different each time. It’s like you said. Don’t you want to adventure? I think that is the tragedy of life. We have all this time. But do we? How much of our time is devoted to things we hate doing? How many people are truly happy to arrive on time for work? I read this excerpt from a man who knew a thing about writing. And it occurred to me that I was one of the clichéd writers He was referring to. I was stuck in a rut. My actions were predictable. My outcomes were mundane. I never changed. In the big mess we call life, moving away from my broken home, I felt I changed. But I didn’t really. I am the same narcissistic Asshole that left home. I wasn’t any different. Sure I drank more Cultured beverages and had more expensive food and dined In beautiful places. Of course I knew that was my Environment. I knew that had changed. When my grandmother died, I asked her if she would Ask the big man why I was so afraid of change. Why I was so afraid of being all alone. I suppose she could have laughed In my face. Why would she do such an intimate Favor for me when I hadn’t even been there When she spoke her last words? How could I see Heaven when my feet were So plainly planted in Hell? And here I am. Babbling about an excerpt from a man who Encourages writers to fight the war on cliché, to make their work Different, to capture human life in a story. My story is a joke, is it not? There is no protagonist. Certainly no hero. Maybe I was never meant to be more than a dreamer. Though my words were published and I was happy about them, I truly was. I was published young. But reading my poems again They’re almost too childish. How did these win awards? I guess what I’m trying to say is that I was never good enough. Not to myself. I always wanted to be the rebel. To be the outcast And to be the person who adventured. 8
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