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Solivagant

A Lone Wanderer

By Bella HigginsPublished 5 years ago 3 min read
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Bubbles. Such wonderful little things that bring joy to so many people when they float around, shimmering in the light of the sun, free to do what they wish. They climb so high into the sky as little ones marvel at their simple creation made from a small mixture, previously bottled and sold to the eager children for pleasure—such wonderful little things. So wonderful that they also have the power to detach you from the rest of the world. Isolating you. Constricting you. Leaving you unable to connect with everything going on around you until you are left lifelessly trudging through life with no hope or glory to your name. Just an existence. Not a life.

Prosper Elio James, born February 14, 1999, to Mr. and Mrs. James, the average couple from County Kerry, South West Ireland. That's him. That's the quiet boy that was in your year at school, the one who never uttered a word, "the weird one." You don't have the slightest idea as to what he has achieved in his 19 years on Earth, let alone what he could be in the future. He could be a math genius, a budding scientist, or even the next Tommy Cooper! Yet you do not have the faintest clue about him, except for the fact you have been following on behind him along a clifftop on the coast of County Kerry for the past 10 minutes of your life and so far nothing exciting has happened.

You're waiting to see what Prosper does. You want to be the first to know the real truth about "the weird one from school," to be the one to crack him like a code, but has following him been of any use as of yet? No. It's been about as useful as a chocolate teapot! Prosper just seemed to trail slowly along the grass, his hands tucked into the pockets of his khaki green winter coat, his head tilted towards his feet, the sea winds wafting through his dark curls, whistling in your ears, masking your footsteps that crunched on the crisp green grass as you traipsed on behind his slouched figure, nothing at all worth noting—or so you thought.

You yearned to know what was rattling on inside of his head, to see life through his eyes, and be able to report it back to your friends and laugh about it for hours on end! What could such a reserved, unspeaking boy possibly think about? He had no friends to create memories with! You sniggered to yourself. So what was there to ponder?

Oh, how you would never be able to guess! Even if you did, you would not have came close.

Why?

Because they did not exist.

Prosper seemed to have lost the ability to brew any thoughts. It seemed as if the cogs that turned all day long had rusted and stuck in place, leaving him with just a dark, solitary space. That same place he had lost himself in, where somewhere deep down, Prosper was dreaming; he was creating; he was living. A place where he was far from being trapped inside of this ever-tightening bubble that had ripped him from society.

He was free in this place.

You would never have known that this boy was lifelessly trudging through life. How could you? You were following him from behind where you could not see anything that would have been a tell-tale sign of any of this. But what if you were walking towards him? Would you see his dull grey eyes? His hollow cheeks? Would you see anything at all?

Would you continue following him now and watch him float away from the world entirely? Letting him drift off into the stars to shimmer in the light of the sun forever. Or would you slowly but surely help widen that bubble, allowing more of society into it, bringing his life back, eventually stretching it so far that it bursts and is no more. Would you help him live?

Funny things, bubbles, so fun and joyful, but also so horrible and harrowing with the ability to cause laughter yet cause pain, too. You just need to choose whether to burst them or watch them disappear. Your decision. Prosper's fate. It's in your hands.

This was the opening to a story I wrote for my English homework.

We were given a prompt, "Write the opening to a story in which a person is being followed," and this is what I came up with. I hope you enjoyed reading.

- Izzy

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About the Creator

Bella Higgins

Wotcha! My name is Bella and I love to read and write. I would love to pursue a career in writing, hopefully writing fantasy novels or novels based on historical events because history is another passion of mine.

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