February 20, 2022
He points the beam up toward the top of the page.
His parents are still there.
Still holding the backpack.
“We have your story right here!” they say. “Are you ready?”
He points his beam at the pile of his broken meanders. Nothing makes sense.
DO his parents have his story?
What IS his story?
He doesn’t know.
Davey howls and hurls the flAshLIghT across the prison of the page. It rolls all the way to the bottom left corner.
Maybe his parents really DO know his story.
He stands up.
He clears his throat.
He is about to tell them, “Yes, I’m ready” when he sees a word illuminated in his little beam of light.
flAshLIghT – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – meander
He lost it when he fell.
But it was there all along.
Davey dashes over and clutches meander to his heart.
He looks around again at the broken stories.
The prehistoric creatures,
“What new story can I make?” he wonders.
He sees part of a word he knows. He fishes around for the rest of the letters.
“There,” he said.
The word becomes real and Davey laughs as it scribbles into the air, making its own path as it flies up and out of the page.
And Davey knows. “Nobody can make my story but me.”
Davey doesn’t know what his story will be.
No one ever does.
But he is going to find out.
He searches for the letters that will launch him.
It doesn’t take long.
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