Text by blbest

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8 years old, and one evening, such a pissed off barrel of Donkey Kong tossed fury I was, I ran away from home.  A brown suitcase in hand, housing only a turban wearing, Hammer pantsed Aladdin, you better not call ‘doll,’ only ‘action figure,’ because I was a boy of action, and he was imperfectly plastically shaped in the figure of what  kinda man I was gonna be.

Like Aladdin, I took charge.  The world beyond the yard was a Jasmine full of cooties I’d liberate.  My absence would pull apologies from my parents’ mouths like the magician’s knotted scarves. In the brush, 40 feet from my front door, I started building a new home. The low hanging branches of cedar, my own Walden, Thoreauing my young life away to solitude.  Everybody’d miss me.  My parents, the always no sayers, my brother, the king butthead of cheap arm punch and farts to the face.

All my bravery peaked, my had enough topped off at the top of the tallest tree I could climb.  From there, I saw my father working in the garage, the dog asleep in the yard, the ghost of my disappearance still too quiet. I sat on the dark soil in a pile of leaves, trying to make my new bed, a pinecone under my knee, when the pain of hunger hit like the footballs my brother threw in my stomach, between both my slow hands too many times.

I packed all my shame and too young beside the prince in the suitcase and walked home, arriving as unnoticed as I’d left.

Now, near a quarter century old, and I’m yet to leave this home I was raised in any easier, always sleeping in cold places, pulling acorns out from under my neck, returning as plainly as I left.

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Metaphorest (Audio & Text Curator) writes:

I adore this story. So relatable and so rich in imagery and emotion. You’ve got an incredible way with words blbest. This really is a joy to read. The last paragraph seals the deal perfectly - frames the story so well. Definitely wanna hear voiceovers for this and I think it would make a beautiful short film. It’s Stand By Me meets On the Road and I love it. :)