One time in New Orleans at Checkpoint Charlie's there was an open mic. I hadn't performed on stage for years so I was a bit nervous. I wanted to show them something that was special to me because at that time I was living in the French Quarter and felt like a princess so I decided to read them the story I made about a river and a wooden boat. I got to the bar early, had a few drinks, met with guy in charge he seemed cool so I felt comfortable. I walked on stage and read my story. Everyone clapped, they all loved it. The guy in charge came up to me while I was sitting on the bar and told me that I couldn't come back because they don't allow plagiarism and that I obviously couldn't have written that story. Someone else must have. He didn't offer a further explanation and told me to leave. So I left and instead of feeling angry or upset I felt quite accomplished. I guess my story was that good that I got kicked out for reading a story I wrote that they thought I stole.
Once upon a time there was a wooden boat. All alone by itself on a pile of rocks. This boat was old, asleep even. The only life it had was the water bumping it’s side. The water was a river barely, depressing really. It once was a beautiful river, Full of life, full of fish, Full of pennies, full of dreams Streaming towards the sea Now it was dry, cracking up, It’s only friend, a wooden boat on a pile of rocks the wooden used to belong to a little boy The little boy had red shorts and dark glossy hair. They fished, they hung out They fought thunderstorms, they basked in the sunshine glow. The wooden boat covered the boy during the rainfall. One day they went fishing for the last time, though neither knew it. It was a glorious fish, silver and spry. It would have been delicious. There was a rock behind them,waiting like a demon in fire. A crash, a scream.
The wooden boat tried to save him, reached out with all of his splinters. The little boy cried for his mother, he sank, It was quiet, the wooden boat drifted
Drifted, on and on. Floated for miles, crying wave after wave
Invisible tears, the wooden boat finally came to a stop. On a pile of white rocks, by a shore where it had never been before.. There it sat. For the longest time, the dry cracked river was afraid of the wooden boat. The river was afraid because the river knew
They both were dying. They had been forgotten, no one cared anymore. The river once full of laughter and splashing, Jet skis and toddlers, no more. No one, some how they grew up
Got jobs, forgot about nature.. Then the garbage piled up, bad kids came with bottles
Threw everything out of their cars into the river. The river grew angry, churned but the trash stuck to the bottom. Killing the fish, killing the trees. Killing the wildlife. The river slowly died, cracked from the ignorance of humans. It hurt the river, the river once loved being the river
No more did it care, Day after day the river felt the water evaporate then finally the river gave up. Depressed alone, then out of the blue on a thin stream. Came the wooden boat
The river felt the wooden boat pass until it stopped on a pile of white rocks
There, they were together
Two in sadness, they had been through so much
The best of friends until the world crumbled
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