Never Giving Up Again

• Paige Belfield, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2008

In that moment, I’d lost everything I believed. From the second I had started saying the words, I knew there was nothing left for me.

“I can’t do this!” I’d said, as I slammed down the pen. They stared at me in surprise, amazed beyond belief. Me? Give up on writing?! Impossible! They knew I loved writing more than anything, but that’s only on the surface. They don’t know how deep that vein runs. I grew up writing, the thing that I kept with me since I was five years old was ripped away from me with the carelessly spoken words. It hurt so much.

The emptiness tore through my body as I realised what I’d said. Memories of writing; my first fairy-tale, the discontinued pieces- discarded after four chapters, the first lengthy work I’d completed, the story I’m most proud of. All worthless because off four words. Four lousy, stupid words.

The pain I felt as the last memory, of the pride of my writing gallery. It’s made seven people cry, and I just about ripped it to shreds. All the effort I’ve poured into short stories, novellas, a true catharsis. It’s been wasted. I didn’t understand how I could have written so much in the past, after I’d said the one thing that could rip words away from me heartlessly. What was the point of it all? Why had I wasted so much time scribbling words that mean nothing when you look inside? Why had I spent days trying to find the perfect thing to write, when there’s nothing underneath? All fiction was just a blank lie, no depth, no life. And I had believed in it.

I felt like a shell, as I remembered the times when I was so upset, so desolate from the harsh realities of life. I’d turned to writing to free myself. It had meant so much to me before, and I realised just how much damage I’d done, and I was afraid of how this could damage my future? What could I turn to that could help me get past the difficult times that people couldn’t help with?

There was nothing. I had nothing to depend on. Nothing to believe in. I’d lost everything, without realising what I was doing. I hadn’t even known that writing was my every thing. I’d messed up. I knew it, I realised the full extent of the damage done to me.

“NO! I take that back! I’m not giving up! I’m going to find the best thing inside me, and it will come out onto paper! I’m never gonna give up again.” I vowed, extremely loudly.

I’ve already written something I’m so proud of I could burst. The shreds are being fixed. No more thoughtless words. And I realise that I can write more than one great story. There’s more to come, I know it. I’ll never stop the pen of inspiration. I know much better now. I believe in what I should. Me, and writing.