{Warning: proud mama tooting her son's horn}As parents, we generally hope that our children inherit our best qualities and not those peskier parts of ourselves that are better left in the dark, never to see the light of day. Well my oldest son, who just turned ten, is a book worm. So much so in fact, that I teasingly refer to the books he is always toting around as an appendage, another limb if you will. He goes virtually nowhere without a book in tow, or two, or three. Seriously, I kid you not. He has among his numerous quirks, a habit of wandering in the wee hours of the night. Most often, these wanderings will end with him finally falling asleep on the old couch in our bedroom. In the morning, every morning, I find a book abandoned somewhere in our room. He "sleep walks" with a book, always one in hand. Among his many habits, I love this one most, his whole-hearted love of reading. This, I would proudly say he got from me.
But not only does his heart belong to books, he loves to write as well. This, he did not get from me. Creative writing is definitely not my forte. But the ten year old loves it. Loves to play with words, create new combinations and bring me his scribbled ideas to proof and discuss. That is how we arrived here. As of late, his preferred tales involve intrigue and deception, heroes and villains, and all manner of creatures of the night. This is an excerpt from his latest bit of storytelling and well, I loved it. It's really for my own bit of memory-making, but do enjoy if you're so inclined.
Nick trudged through the streets of Paris. His dark, red eyes surveyed his surroundings. The street lamp flickered as he strode past. Three Parisians in pale blue vests tailed him through the endless crowd of people. Their eyes were hidden by extremely expensive designer Versace sunglasses. Nick noticed their weird formation as soon as he saw them. To normal Parisians they would have looked like mere tourists or passersby. But Nick knew, underneath those sunglasses, icy gray eyes with no pupils were glaring at him. He moved into the crowd of people inside the Eiffel Tower. He opened the door leading to the top. When he arrived at the top, he turned around and unsheathed his sword. Sure enough, the people who had been tailing him were there. But they were no longer people, their heads had turned into lions' heads, their backs were hunched over. Claws had retracted from their hands. Nick pivoted and stabbed the smallest of the three. When the sword pieced its skin, the creature turned into a pile a dust.
Oooh, I got chills. But I am his mama, so probably not an impartial reader. Still, I love this boy and his love of literature. {insert-puffing up with pride}
Oh and by the way, the ten year old insisted that I post a copyright notice {:0)} so interwebs, please note, above excerpt copyright D.A.P., 2009.
{image, I think, via This is Glamorous}
