Just a Little Something

This is just a little something I've written lately. It was one of those times where I was typing and just let my mind wander and, well, this was the result:

    I want to be a legend. I want to be a prodigy. I want to see my name in the headlines, and have people think, “Oh, but she’s so young! How is she so amazing?” I want everyone to love me. I want to not have such trouble concentrating on what’s happening in the present. I want….

    I want pepperoni, says a little voice in my head. And skittles. Skittles are good. We like skittles.

    Not now, I shush it. Can’t you see I’m in the middle of a very important rant to no one in particular? Where was I….

    I want to be different. I want to change the world--

    No, you don’t. You hate change. You cried so much when Aunt Harriet moved the marigolds from the front porch to the garden plot by the shed, she made you a pan of fudge. And while you were eating the fudge, she asked you why the geographical position of the marigolds bothered you, you said--

    Shut up!

    ‘Because I just can't stand change, Aunt Harry!’

    Sometimes I really hate you, I thought.

    The left and right sides of my brain argue excessively. Sometimes they are even joined by other voices. One time I wondered out loud if maybe there were hundreds of spirits living in each of our bodies and the voice we heard when we think is just the strongest spirit and the other weaker spirits were those annoying other voices that are always making you contradict yourself.

     As I said that, the guy who sits next to me on the bus looked up from his iPod and stared at me.

    “Write a book,” he said.

    “I already have.”

    “Impressive,” he said, in a way that made it clear that he did not think it impressive at all.

    “Some people think so.”

    “What people?” I had no answer for that. I almost never see my family, and all my friends had drifted from me after the accident. No one I knew even knew that I write-- except for this guy. And I was at loss for a response. Aunt Georgia is the one with a degree in sarcasm, not me. So I said,

    “People other than you.”

    He snorted, and turned up the volume on his earbuds.

    Which made me think that maybe I liked those voices in my head after all-- hey, they were nicer to me than this guy.