Early Bird Trust Issues

When I was writing a speech as Judas Escariot for English class, a rather random idea popped into my mind. Can you remember the last time you stopped yourself from telling the whole story to your mother thinking they would just forget about it? This is my answer to that:

I am in grade six and I was walking the way home from school. My route involves passing by the University Church which is grand with a high, platform-like roof covering its grand entrance several steps up high a wide staircase. It was a sight to behold and every time I walk its way, I wouldn’t miss taking a peek at its majesty. This day was different though because on the high roof, I saw a man wearing clothes similar to the school’s gardeners. Have they started to plant on that roof? I asked myself and took several steps nearer to home.

I heard the man on the roof shout at me because apparently, I was the only one near enough to hear him. I took another look and I saw him clutching a bible and a knife, he was tearing down his jacket and the shirt he wrapped around his head. I knew something was wrong. He was shouting at me and I was pretty sure he wanted to jump. Knowing I should listen, I listened and after I heard enough, I started running towards the nearby security guard station and informed them about the horror I witnessed. 

After talking to the guard, I went home immediately and watched TV with my mother. A few minutes later, the church was a full-blown news backdrop. Anchors broadcasting locally covered the on-going negotiation with the suicidal man on the roof who was, by that time, tearing apart bibles and cursing the heaven. The man was later saved by a garbage truck filled with plastics, strategically placed to catch the body of the crazy.

My mother was heavily attentive to the news of the suicidal man (with scattered comments on how rude he was) while I, who witnessed the dawn of this, sat quietly. I didn’t want to tell her. I knew I was a child and parents tend to discard the stories of children as lies or as overdoses of imagination. Until now, I haven’t told them.

It was in grade six that I realized when and who to tell the most earth-shaking stories in order to really gain a reaction. It is in that age I learned about targeting and avoiding an audience.

See, I was writing for a project and now I’m lamenting on my early bird trust issues.

PS: The story is not a lie because I know enough to understand that in the vastness of thought, there should be no space left for phonies.