Hello everyone reading this. This is the prologue of a story that im (hopefully) going to continue. write me with comments at Gemmini999@aol.com
disclaimer-
Anyone famous mentioned in this story might or might not be gay. I don't know. in my story they are... but it's just a story. if your under the age of 18, please don't read.
Prologue
"I heard them say that dreams should stay in your head, well I feel ashamaed of the things that I've said, Put on these chains and you can live a free life, well I'd rather bleed just to know why I died." - Hanson, This Time Around
All my life, I've had nothing but dreams in my head. Crazy dreams, about me climbing mountains, and living off of nuts and berries in the depths of the forest, just to escape. Escape from this world, this world of insanity. This world that's never going to accepted me, never let me live my own life, never let me be who I truly am.
My parents never knew about my dreams, they wanted a son that they could see and not hear. A son they could parade around in front of all their rich patrions, a well behaved son that did exactly what he was told. I wasn't that son, to say the least. At all hours of the night, when I was supposed to be asleep, I'd be lying on my bed, writing down the words that I never dared to say to their face.
Those words became my salvation. When I was scared, lonely, I would drift off into a world where fairy kings and princes still lived, and nights in shining armour were the normal. A world that alwys accepted me, and loved me. A world where I felt safe, even if it was only in my head.
My parents just knew that at night I was staying up to late for their tastes, having fun doing something they didn't approve of. So they tried to stop me. They failed miserably. And I continued to write. Write the stories that expressed my dreams, my love for life, and my bitterness at a world that wouldn't accept me because of my love for life, my love for the innocent.
Then something happened. I showed one of my stories to a friend, and things escalated. That friend showed it to his father, who showed it to a publisher. And it got published. All my private dreams, my private emotions, put out there for the world to see, the world to read. I got upset.
That friend, if I can even call him a friend still, knew he screwed up. But he didn't try to stop the publication. He didn't try to stop the story from being made public. He let it happen, and he shrugged his shoulders, as if to say "Sorry Tim, but hey, now your going to make a shitload of money."
He never got it, never understood that I didn't want the money, I didn't want the fame. All I wanted was to lie on my bed at night and write down my dreams that my parents forbid me to have, but I had anyway. So I pretended nothing happened. I never mentioned the book to my parents, to my friends. I acted like it didn't exist. All the money was put into an account, and I never touched it. I went back to my dreams, back to my midnight writing sessions.
I went back to being normal, for me at least. My world of princes and kings was still there, still offering me the protection that I needed, craved. The world that offered me my safety, my salvation. It didn't last for long though.