The outcast – Fiction

Intro

The outcast is about life. For those who like to write and have a vivid imagination there are no limits.

When I was a child I wanted to be an artist. I wanted to be able to paint the sky, the beauty of the clouds running and dancing through the blue. I lay on the grass following the people in the sky. They were free. They could travel so fast. I wanted to be there. I wanted to show the world what I saw.

I never managed to get the hang of painting but I did write, always.

Writing makes me free.

I can go wherever I like and enjoy life even though it is not always a dance on the purple clouds.

I want to make the most of the time I have left on this earth and part of it is to write my stories.

I asked myself: Who do I write for?

When I realised it was just for me, I got my freedom. Freedom of enjoying what I experience in my fantasy.  What more is there to wish for?

The freedom of being my own independent company can not be put in words. It has to be felt.

This fiction will be dedicated to my mother. She taught me how to read when I was just a tiny 4 year old girl. She read for me and I sat opposite and learned the words one by one and suddenly I could read the book myself. What a glorious day that was. My brother came home from the sea and his reaction was: What? The child is reading! I looked up at him, beaming with pride. Yes, I know how to read, I whispered.

My brother was my hero and he saved me when he came home and I was stuck in the mud. He lifted me up and carried me through the door. My boots did not stay on my feet. They were left in the mud, but my hero picked them up and my mother scolded me for cavorting in the dirt.

Those were good days. Innocent child protected from evil.

My mother rests in heaven. She is free from the suffering. I hope she can enjoy my fiction with me.

This will not be shared on Facebook. This is just for me and my friends on WordPress.

There is a way to follow my fiction. You can follow me on WordPress.

Just remember when you read my fiction, that it is a fiction. It is something in making and I hope one day I might even be able to share it with my wonderful students in China. They can not see blogs but there is always a way. I just have to find it.

Thank you for reading this and maybe I will see you again.

Hulda Björnsdóttir