By Macey, Year 5
To all the people in the world who don’t have much courage.
I’m standing in the driveway, nothing new. It has just been me for the last twelve years. I’m waiting for an important letter; a letter that will change my life. Until I get it, everything about my life and who I am will remain the same. This letter will allow me to live the life I was meant to live, free of this mundane loneliness.
As I wake up on Monday morning, I hear something … IT’S THE POSTIE! My heart is pumped with excitement and joy. I search through the letters: bills, advertising, nothing interesting. When I finally get to the end, I call out to the Postie:
“Oi! You forgot a letter.”
He replies, “I ain’t missing no letter! Try again tomorrow.”
I can’t believe it! Another day! All that means is another day in the driveway. Sometimes I wonder if you really need a letter to say something or to show you can do something? Do you need a letter at all?
As time goes on, all I can think about is tomorrow so I decide to go to bed. The letter is all I can think about. It’s all I can dream about.
The next morning, I hear something. THE POSTIE! As he comes up to me, he slips me one letter.
I say, “Thanks!”
He zooms off.
I tear the envelope open. The letter has no name, so that would be me. It reads:
We need to write a letter, but there is nothing to write about.
A tear falls down my face, as anger spreads throughout my body. All I can think about is… WHY, WHY, WHY does everyone have a life but me? It’s just unfair. It’s always me being left behind, no one else, just me! There is nothing to do … or is there?
I don’t know what to do, then BOOM it hits me. Everyone walking down the street, where did they start? They worked for it. So if I put my mind to it, who knows what will happen? I won’t be perfect, but at least I will be recognised (not by everyone, but at least one person, hopefully). I sleep on it and in the morning, something feels different, something is calling me. Faraway. What could it be?
I jump, I kick, I punch. And then I find myself out of the driveway.
I scream! I shout! I dance!
I never needed a letter. I could have been who I wanted to be all along.
Where young writers (and some older ones) write.