13YEARS13 (Based on true events)

"Somewhere in here,where this thing began.   You were the same age as I was when you came across the addiction to paraphrase names in singular sounds!  Wanna make a compound & have things of enhancement to say my name!"  

This is what the WORDS had spoken to me at the not so tender age of 13 I was trapped on a Thursday in my room, compelled to stay in WORDS company:

 "You will spill what I want you to say on pages of many forms.  Regardless of your beliefs.  Regardless of your wants.  Now & from now on, you belong to me!  What are you writing?"  

I have no voice for the moment, so I hand it to it. A powerful thing that it cannot control & is taken aback.  It stops to read.  There is no silence.  

Imagine: The silhouette of a man. A very tall man, surrounded by a wall of wind, while it's flesh looked liked peeling pieces of paper, blowing off of its body into the gale,only to be replaced by another.  Scanning each word, with literal written hands themselves, as if it were a highly regarded text to the knowledge that anyone has never seen, or may ever see.  

It snatches my paper from my desk & makes a motion that would look like it was looking at me, then turning away to read my words.  Now, it doesn't look so scary. It seems less unreasonable, making a move to sit on my bed, calming it's surrounding storm.  It turned the paper over & read the contents on the back.  Then, the storm stopped.  

Before me I see the form of a man, that looks like he is wrapped in paper of sonnets, words, passages, lyrics, scored music, children art & anything that you could imagine that could be composed on a piece of paper, but it was its skin.  It's lips were paper, but the internal portion of his mouth was black like a starless night, just like it's  eyes.

"You know," it said, "I always only wanted 114 years, but then time got involved in a prayer & this... this is what happened.  Every fabric of notice & the involvement of imagination has been a plague, a really painful one."

It makes a motion that he would wipe away a tear, but pulls a portion of a page from where it's bottom eyelid, or where it would be, and eats it. Takes a hard sniff, to produce a cough, while hunching forward, producing American currency in the form of $3,673.97 & gathers it.  It then started pulling papers from its section of its body where it would be an external stomach & makes the papers into a basket.  It takes the currency & puts into the basket, but compresses it so tight, that it's as big as an envelope.

"Nobody in life has ever done this to me," It says, "nobody."  "So now it seems that my beginning was set to be in the work of evolution that surrounds my temple in words. It is so painful to have the natural insight of the things that stir the thought process in the form of a person.  You are going to feel all of this.  Every moment, every event will happen to come to you in the form of a dream.  This will be everything.  It will roll down a familiar hill in a ball of light towards your.  It will knock you down and pass silently through you, binding you with all of the events of life."

In a serious tone, it says:  "You must not close your eyes & you must share this story with all, even those that don't listen.  How did you know to write that & you are only 13 years old?  HOW!?!?"

In a cool tone that sounded just like my voice, it said, "You do not know what you are or who you are to be & by what you have written, I am compelled to tell you the truth.  You are ME.  I am leaving now.  Close your eyes & do your best to forget me.  114 years? No, this is what you look like at 173.  Please open the window, so that I can go.  Keep the money hidden & be blessed with the currency.  Hurry!"

It motions towards the window & I open it, naturally.  It leaves in blowing separated motions, turning to ash in the wind.

Now, looking in the mirror, after it left, I know that the silhouette & shape & form of the WINDPAPERMAN, was me.

In the future, that is  what I  will ever be, only paper, in a protective hard wind shield, at 173?

The scary truth of time & the knowledge of your involvement in it is nothing to take for a safety hold.

You're better off looking for the moment when you  die.

Looking at it left, I never closed my eyes.

So begins the pain of crime.

So begins the agonizing tears of time.