The Legend of Louise

“Write a story Louise.” Louise’s teacher said. “A poem, really anything at all... Your writing is just so bland...so pointless so...not meaningful and with no hint of excitement. Not even a whisper! Please Louise! I really hate giving you such horrible grades. Especially because you’re so brilliant! But there is really no other solution. Just one story...”

Louise’s mind raced. She imagined herself jumping on the table and shouting, her face turning red and then blue from lack of air. The force of her words caused her teacher to fall to the floor, her eyes rolling back in her head. Aah! Such words! Louise longed to be able to write such stories. To put words together so amazingly that they could bring back the dead. But no. No matter what she wanted, what she longed for, she could never write such stories. She had promised. A deadly promise. For when the string inside her snapped and words came rushing forth, she would be finished. For good.



If you were to open the door to Louise’s bedroom that day, you would’ve seen a petite girl with long blond hair in a white nightgown. The walls of her bedroom were painted a lovely lavender color, but all that seem to pale in comparison to Louise. Her lips frowned in concentration, her brows furrowed. She was hunched over her writing desk, trying to ignore the hunger she felt. Oh how she longed for words! And she had them too. Floating around in that little area above her head, just waiting to be called down and put into sentences. Finally, Louise’s resolve weakened. Before she knew what she was doing, she grabbed her pencil and began to write.



What if everyone in the world was hiding? The new kid at school was really a spy, his whole family fabricated and embroidered. Lies, all of them! What if they were really in the witness protection program, or worse, running from the witness protection program? Clever crooks who were super stealthy...What was the world coming to?




Louise took one look at the words she had written before erasing them, crumpling them up and throwing them away. Just the thought of what she had just done made her want to hurl. It was hopeless anyway. What was the point? Did she really think she could be a writer? Did she really want to? What about everything else? Was she just going to throw away all her hopes and dreams? Throw them in the trash just as she had her story?
She lay down on her perfect little bed in despair and gazed at her little, perfect room, her little perfect curls tumbling down her shoulders. But did she really want to be perfect? But if she wasn’t, what was she? A failure, a disappointment? What was wrong with Louise?
In desperation she closed her eyes. Her dreams were filled with words. Hiding, Fabricate, Stealthy...Coming off the page, becoming alive. They started to chase her. Louise...Louise...they chanted. They promised her safety but she could see through their lies. If she stopped running, they would get her. But then she did stop. And the words did get her. They opened up their vicious little mouths, trying to swallow her whole. What had happened to Louise’s perfect little world, where nothing wrong could every happen? Louise started to panic. There was no escape...no way out...how had she managed to get in anyways?
Louise tried something that would surely plunge the world into the dark ages once again. She opened her eyes. Her perfect little nightgown was soaked through with cold sweat. Her breath came in ragged gasps. I’ve had enough of you! Louise told the words. The words to she had come to realize reflected her perfect little life. I want suspense, action, mystery. This is the last time any of you will have control over me!!! Getting up from her bed, she made a decision. Surely it was a rash, and stupid decision, even in the best of times. But these were the worst. And so, without even a final thought, Louise threw her writing in the fireplace and set it ablaze. She changed into some decent clothes and opened her door.
No more hiding.
No more being scared.
It was time to live!