ariel fenwick. d10. fin. cbd2.

You've always been an optimist.

A bird must always fly from its nest, but you rarely return to the tree. You would rather be anywhere than home because you always have too much energy. There's an eternal twinkle in your eye that worries your parents. They call you selfish, careless, reckless even, because you would rather run through fields, climb trees, and swim in creeks than take on responsibility. They warn you that it will only bring you trouble. Peacekeepers don't take kindly to slackers, they say.

"But I'm not a slacker! I help you guys all the time."

You babysit the dogs and tend the precious gardens. Your parents make small profit off of their vegetables, but that means everything to them and you know it. You try to do your chores when you can, and quickly. They don't see it as enough. Apparently you're allowed to have fun, but not too much fun. You don't really understand their point. Danger lurks, yet you've never seen it.

Not yet.

So you continue to stretch your wings. People stare, but you're only sixteen. Maybe it will catch up to you, maybe it won't. Adulthood is waiting around the corner and you're in no rush to meet it. You want to smile at the clouds, feel the soil between your toes, feel the wind through your hair, chase the dogs through the woods.

You live in a temporary dream. Nothing can go wrong, and everything is okay.

The world will crush people like you.