Tonight, I had to write a 500+ word assignment about "An imaginary high school student who is forced to recognize what he truly is."
Here's what I wrote. I dislike the fact that I had to write the whole thing in the present voice. It makes the whole story sound like a play.
The Boy Who Couldn't
Wallace Jasperforth Eisencroft is a young boy, fourteen years of age. His father is a successful author who makes over nine million dollars a year, and his mother is a gold-digging snob of the highest degree. Her only joys in life seems to be giggling at the ragged poor, and watching reruns of “The Gilmore Girls“. Wally is a freshman at Persnickety Upper, which is an expensive private school located in Beverly Hills, where he maintains a 4.0 grade point average. He is as skinny as a twig, and unnaturally short, earning him the nickname “Little Bit” from his friends, and “That Small Kid” from everyone else.
Although complacent with his average life of Ferraris and indirect super stardom, Wally has always had a dream in the back of his mind that he wished to pursue. He doesn’t want to be a brain surgeon, or Politician, instead, Wally has always desired to become a professional underground street fighter. One day, Wally approaches his mother and asks, “Mom, can you drive me downtown?” To which she replies, “What for, my precious pupsikins?” Wally smiles, and answers, “So I can beat up some random thugs, and be the greatest street fighter ever!” Upon hearing this, Wally’s mom faints, and he is then beaten by his father for being silly.
After regaining consciousness several hours later, Wally finds himself in his
bedroom with the lights out. Turning them on and trying the doorknob, he discovers that he is locked inside. “By golly, I’ll be the best gosh darned street fighter there ever was!” he said to himself, throwing open a window and climbing out. From there, he begins walking aimlessly down the side of the street until a red pickup truck pulls over next to him. Rolling down the window, the driver says, “Hey kid, need a lift?” Wally immediately takes the stranger up on his offer, and hops in the back.
Arriving in the ghetto, Wally leaps from the truck, landing with a roll, going fifty five miles per hour. Luckily for Wally, he is uninjured. Unfortunately, he does not stay that way for long, as he is cruelly beaten down by a passing group of thugs. Wally tries to defend himself, putting all of his street fighting experience into use, but he regardless, he is thrashed quite soundly. The last thing he notices is the curb rapidly approaching his face. It is a this moment he realizes he’s not a street fighter after all, just some kid. Then everything goes black.
After regaining consciousness several years later, Wally finds himself in a hospital room, attached to a heart monitor, with a feeding tube jabbed in his arm. He attempts to speak, but discovers that he has forgotten how to. In fact, the only thing he can do is roll from side to side and babble incoherently. “Mugwag, Uvetuph!!” He shouts, desperate for help. He continues that way for several minute, until a doctor strolls in, adopting an astonished expression upon realizing that Wally is awake. The doctor walks up closer to Wally and asks him in a slow, deliberate voice, “Can you understand me?” It takes all of Wally’s willpower to manage a shaky nod in confirmation.
Looking relieved but sad at the same time, the doctor continues, “I’ve got some bad news, Wally. You’ve been unconscious for nearly nineteen years.” Wally’s heart nearly freezes in place as he hears this news with ever increasing horror. “But that’s not the worst of it.” The doctor went on, looking away from his patient. “I’m afraid your hands were broken beyond repair during the attack. You’ll never be able to street fight again.” Wally wants to cry, but can only lay there in defeat.
