I’ve been thinking a lot about writing recently and I came across something I wrote way back in the very early 90’s, so I thought I would post it for fun. This was probably something I wrote for an English class assignment given where I found it. I think it was supposed to be about what my life might be like in the future. The future is now and my life is nothing like this, unfortunately!
I did some very minor editing as I typed this in to correct a couple of spelling errors. As I read it now, I chuckle to myself at the number of obvious clichés and grammatical errors…
A Step Into The Future
The rain spattered my crumpled blue hat as I walked the fog enshrouded street. Once again I was alone with my thoughts as I made my way back from my little-used bookshop, which was conveniently situated just inside of town. Under my arm I carried a cracked and well-worn briefcase. I had had it for quite a while, its brown sides were well wrinkled from years of use. Its zipper flashed in the moonlight as I glanced down at it. I really must get it fixed one day. I continued along the street until it left town, the silvery moon was now dipping in and out of the rain clouds. It was nights like this that my head seemed to be clearer than usual, I was able to be myself and not have to worry about other people as I walked through the cloud-covered streets and out onto the country highway that lead to my laneway. I continued along, carefully avoiding the brackish puddle that was always left on the corner. The rain continued to play a staccato beat on my head as I walked, the sound of my feet beating counterpoint. I paused as I turned down my laneway, opening my worn black overcoat just enough to admit the letters I had just taken from the battered and rusty mailbox that rested on top an old pine log. I should really get around to putting that pole into the ground and repainting the box. The flecked green paint sparkled for a moment as I adjusted the box on its perch.
Now, as I started down my laneway, I became more relaxed. I was entering my domain now, a realm of security and sometimes of fantasy and magic. I tipped my hat to the gnarled oak tree that guarded the gate. It was a beautiful old tree, hit more than once by lightning, scars ran down its bark to the ground, but it hadn’t fallen and when the light hit it just right, you would swear it was watching you. The gate creaked as I opened it. I should have oiled it weeks ago, but like everything else it has been overlooked since it was on the fringes of my kingdom. The hike down to the house from the highway took about thirty minutes. I had chosen this lot because of its remoteness. Along either side of the driveway stood hundreds of trees of every shape and size. Maples stood with ironwood, and beech with poplar. This was the best buy I ever made, 90 acres of bushland backed up on two sides by Crown land, a secondary highway and the town on the others.
My house was dark as it always was when I returned home. The porch creaked a welcome as I stepped onto it and up to the front door. I pulled the key from my pocket and entered into the heart of my realm. Setting my case down on the antique hall table, I shook off my coat and hat and placed them in their accustomed places on the tall brass coat rack I bought at a local auction. I slipped off my wet boots and stepped into a ratty old pair of checkered slippers someone had given me for Christmas one year. The house smelled of pine and wood smoke, a glorious scent. I crossed over to the riverstone fireplace and lit the kindling I had laid in the hearth before I left that morning. It crackled merrily as I fed it larger and larger logs, the sap popping as it began to heat, the scent of cedar now permeated the house. Gratefully, I sat down in my old green chair, it was moth-eaten and had been repaired more than once, but it was mine. As I sat there, I thought about the past and about what I had done, and I was at home.
