Memoir

This is my life, or quite frankly, this WAS my life. It doesn't matter in the least anyway, no one really cared. If you asked anyone they'd reply with 'Corren who?' that's how invisible I was to people. I considered myself an intelligent person but I most certainly wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, my IQ was just an average 110, but what I lacked in athletic skill I most certainly made up for with words.

My one simple passion in life was writing, it was my one release. I had few friends... no friends actually, so the only people to keep me company was the characters I created. With stories I could go anywhere, do anything, be any one I wanted to be. That's why I loved it so much... writing was a very powerful tool, I suppose that's why I was chosen.

Corren looked around at his surroundings, it was the most magnificent place he had ever been in his afterlife. Nowhere in his living years had he ever been in a place this large or this beautiful. It had anything and everything he had ever wanted and best of all he was in a room with others like himself doing exactly what they loved too do.

The room, for all intents and purposes, was perfect. It had no one form, it had many. The room conformed to anything at any give time to suit his needs and wants, it smelled precisely how he wanted it to smell and looked precisely how he wanted it to look. It was many things to many people and no one person saw the room the same. He and his colleagues loved to trade information about what the room looked like to them at that moment.

Time worked differently in heaven, one thousand years equaled out to one day on Earth. It had been a day since his death and he had never been happier. For the first 100 years of his afterlife he stood in line awaiting his judgment. This gave him time to recount his own life and what he would do, if you could do anything in heaven.

I was a loner in high school, a geek, a dweeb, a dork... call it whatever you want, I was called worse. I had no parents. If I wanted to I could probably look them up down the hall from here, but I don't want to know, why should I, they never came back for me. The orphanage I lived in was no different from school, sure it was a better place to explore, but the ridicules were the same.

The orphanage I lived in was towering. It was old, built at least one hundred years before I was born. One thing that made it unique was that it was built in the shape of a castle, many of the rooms still were empty, some I went into just to be alone and write.

The one thing I find solitude in now... and the one thing that's ironic is the fact that while I was an unknown, non - influential person in life I still am in death with one main exception, I am a muse. It is my job to coax idea's. It is my job to influence. It is my job to write.

Corren rose up out of his chair and stretched. One thing that he was required to do was write his own life story. He actually found this very difficult since he considered his life very uninteresting and uneventful. Today marked his one thousandth death day and he was excited. Today he would be meeting the creator himself and he was allowed one question. It was tradition, or so he heard.

I was considered an outcast by the ‘popular’ kids. Popular my ass… when they all graduate they will be at dead end jobs with little education, and they all did. They only really worried about what the latest fad were, what the most fashionable clothes were, what the most ‘popular’ musics were, and what the best looking cars were. They never stopped to think about other people or consider that all the latest fads and fashions don’t make the person.

That being said I will recount my life as best I can from the point of one week ago – Earth time - till my death one day ago. I will explain why I am now sitting here writing a memoir that has no consequence to anyone, save myself, and will probably be botched by someone typing away at a computer. If my seventeen years on Earth had taught me anything it was that while it's a good idea to follow the golden rule, in life the best chance you will ever have is to look out for yourself, I had to come to terms with that the hard way.

Corren sat back down at his desk, he loved the fact that no matter where he went, no matter what he was doing, if he had to write he could just accomplish it mentally. His pen was special, it was the first thing given to Muses, it made it easier and more efficient to crank out stories if you could just think it. His pen floated back to his hand happily and he continued his work.

So where should I begin, I think I should start on the morning of that October day one week ago. I woke up feeling sick, so sick in fact that I begged Allen, one of the directors of the orphanage to let me stay in my quarters. Of course this didn't go over well, Allen was adamant that that I go. How on earth was I suppose to concentrate when it seemed like every part of me hurt.

At school the first thing to happen to me was that I was shoved in a locker, it was the usual morning routine. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I didn't fight back, but, since there were usually five jocks, my fight lasted all of one minute. Both the school and the orphanage psychiatrists believed I was just paranoid but I knew different. My stomach churned, it was unlike any pain I had ever felt before.

Why was this happening to me? I know they say life is what  you make it but this was ridiculous, I had never hurt anyone, and, to my knowledge, I had never done anything wrong. So Why? What I didn't know at the time was within the next few days I would get all the answers I wanted.

Three days ago, after I got out of my locker, I headed to class. On my way I had bumped into Jerry the quarterback of the schools football team. It was a complete and total accident but he didn't see it that way. Thank god a teacher came along or I would have been pounded to a pulp. Before we got separated, however, Jerry had tried to whisper something in my ear so the teacher wouldn't hear him... I wasn't paying attention to him, and anyway, he was cut off by the sudden pull of the teacher.

The next two days passed like all the others, the only difference was Jerry making threats... nobody wanted to listen. Jerry, to everyone else, was a perfect model student... but me, I was making it up, according to the principle. I opted, therefore, to make as less contact with them as I could, this didn't happen. Unbeknownst to me my days, no, my hours were limited, the next day was the last day my eyes ever sat on earth as a living breathing being.

This brought a tear to Corren's eye, he didn't want to remember, much less write his last few days... but he was required to do it. He lightly dipped his pen in the inkwell that was on the left side of his desk and took a deep breath. He looked up at the room again, it had reflected his mood. The room was barely lite, save for candles floating around his desk. It had twisted and changed into a gloomy, desolate living space. He could make out cobwebs in the corners and broken windows on the window sill. It suited the situation. He shrugged and went back to writing.

On my way home to the Orphanage I was cornered by Jerry and three other I had never seen before. He shoved me wanting to fight, I knew better than to stand so I tried to run away, to no avail. Two of the boys were faster and stopped me dead in my tracks, I toppled to the ground when the force of his fist his my stomach which still wasn't feeling all that well.

Jerry drug me by my coat collar. Every time I tried to escape the other boys would pin me down so Jerry could get a better grip. If I had thought about it I might have screamed but I was to scared, the only thing going through my mind was that if I even made the slightest peep I'd die. Half an hour later we stopped dead in the woods. Two of the boys stood me up and locked my arms preventing me from escaping, the other boy kept watch.

I saw a baseball bat being drawn and the pain started. I was hit in every direction. The quarterback, the model student as everyone seemed to think, had a grudge against me for the dumbest thing possible and I was paying for his idiocy. The beating stopped after ten minutes, but I couldn't stand. I had barely enough strength to crawl, which didn't matter anyway, as soon as I had started I was grabbed again.

I was dragged by my feet this time and kicked every time I managed to grab on to something. The pain was unbearable. We arrived shortly after at an old well. It had rained the day before so it was full with water. Jerry pulled a concrete block out of the same bag that the baseball bat came out of, by this time I knew it was the end. It was no use trying to struggle, even though I did the best I could I didn't have the strength left in me anymore. They say your life flashes before your eyes the moment before you die, i'm here to tell you how true that is.

The block was now anchored to my foot and I was hoisted into the air. Tears were streaking down my face. All my life came down to this moment, and it was a sad moment, I knew within the next few moments my life would be blinking out of existence. A strange strange sensation came over me at that point. Maybe it was the chilling coldness of the water, maybe it was the fact that the air was slowly escaping from my lungs but within minutes I had a warmth wash over me.

I had awoke in a vast unending room. There were more people there than I had ever seen in my entire life. I looked around and noticed, to my surprise, a man with wings. He smiled at me and pointed to a sign. I had followed it out to an extremely spacious area, there I had seen a line. I must have been acting on instinct because the next thing I knew I was standing in it awaiting judgment.

Corren got up, sighed, and placed his pen on his desk, happy to have finally completed his memoir. John had just arrived and it was time for his meeting. John waved and walked over to greet him.

“Ready?” John asked.

“As ready as I'll ever be,” Corren answered. “Lets get this show on the road.”

Corren walked out of the room, content with the knowledge that although he may have gone unnoticed on earth his afterlife was the best gift he had ever gotten and if he could he would thank the boys that had left him to drown.

THE END