Sam Whinge

She asked me, 'Who are you really?'

I told her I was 'Jude Barley', a painter specialising in landscape of pinks and blues.

I then raised a question 'Why then is my world so red?'

She replied 'do you wish it were a deep crimson or a pale pink?'

I answered neither, I wanted my sight clear.

'So you want it white?' Replied the Universe,

'I want it without that which I know, so I may create new worlds, worlds I don't already know'

'Then find a way to blend, maybe after melding and finding a balance between sky blue, light pink and harsh red you'll start seeing the world in newer ways. Maybe you just haven't tried looking in the sky blues and light pinks perspectives as much as you have the harsh reds.'

I nodded, I told her 'Thank you.'

She smiled and left me alone.

The next day I walked to my mother, she asked me 'Who is that?'

I responded that I am 'Ruby Richardson', a programmer and a worshipper.

I asked mother if I was asked her, then and there, if I was like the gods I worship if I too create life through lines of riddlish words and phrases.

She responded 'Maybe, maybe not.'

'What?'

'Is that what you wanna be?' My mother posited.

'No.'

'Then you're not.'

'But how do I know?'

'Well, I don't find you a god, if you worked hard enough and put in the effort maybe I would. But I don't see it and clearly neither do you.' She then continued.

'Maybe if you'd stop focusing on what you aren't you'd start focusing on what you are. You're a good girl, you've got hooves for legs but that doesn't make you any less good of a girl.'

I walked up to a young child, I said to them 'God you're so small!'

He looked up at me and said 'And you're Sam Allicudy, writer and dreamer.'

I looked stunned and begged them to continue.

'I've seen you around, do you ever wish to move on? What's your biggest dream?'

'To be a musician, and a writer worth respecting.' I replied.

'When you look in the mirror who do you see?'

'What? Me, of course.'

'I believe you see a you that is not you, you see a you with a hook chin and a lazy eye. You also see a you with beautiful eyes and long dashing hair that makes the boys lust over you. I also believe you see a you that is an old man with a gray beard who wishes he could've made a novel before cancer got him.'

'What do you mean by this?' I asked.

'Get to know them, maybe they'll teach you the piano.'