This may/may not be my final thread on Lit-Net. Very experimental, I actually had it written on three pages with backwards writing on the back pages to continue reading by turning pages back.
I wasn't sure where to place it (I wanted to put it in Poetry AND Short Stories) so it shall go here:
My oldest son has turned ten today. Only four more years until...
He will rise, and the days will turn to nights, a constant stream of bitter cold and biting winds which
are completely generic and cliche ways to describe despair and loneliness.
But what must be done and said must be done, we do not choose moods or what to control. The only things we control are superficial options that rarely effect us, and even then control is limited. So work hard and become wise in order to accept all of the things you cannot control.
...he is given the option to join the military or...
Become one with nature, and learn how to respect all surroundings, allowing oneself to become as pure as the
water in the lakes, in the ocean, in the bodies on the people in control of the world in which we enjoy life.
But purity is only an ideal that is is perceived by an individual. Purity and perfection are different as perfection is unattainable while there are means to measure purities in a physical sense. Unfortunately, the more a person tries to achieve perfection, the less pure they become by allowing external factors to influence who they are.
...he will be arrested and exiled to a labor camp, where he can choose to work or die.