Novel Exerpt 1,

The Dramatist

The mouth speaks what the heart wants, but the heart never knows what it truly wants so the mouth blabbers a bunch of gibberish not even its owner can understand. But Ben's heart, spoken and complained to a tune he chose to ignore. For the words have no place in a pre-made world, where choice is predetermined and fate is but a path chosen for him.

When Ben was ten he realised his role him life, and this be an awkward situation for any child to think or hold the world's responsibility upon their tiny shoulders. He believed his role to grow up and please his family's reputation to be the only job of any importance. He sadly came to this conclusion on night, after his private school's recital and he had played the flute badly and his father quietly pointed out his shame. Years later, one day when he was at a park and there was a small school concert to for the viewing pleasure of the public, and the displeasure of his own, Ben saw a scrawny little boy in a jumper that looked like it was going to strangle him and he played the flute as if it were a straw trying to blow bubbles into a thick milkshake. But Ben had remembered himself and thought that any boy forced to play the flute was set up in life to fail miserably at it as it was a hobby, a talent only to be exercised by those who were infatuatedly interested. And a boy who was poor at the flute, despised it in all of its femineity and slenderness. A boy forced to play the flute and despised it may come to the conclusion, Ben's own, that it were an instrument for the accomplished homosexual as Ben so often said at the age of sixteen whenever his mother mentioned it to his friends. "Who the hell would want to blow a stick to pass the time" he would complain.

And that was it, Ben remembered himself to despise the various artistic outlets the school had to offer because they posed no sense of accomplishment at all, but failure as his father unashamedly pointed on that night after having wasted his time to see his son blow hard on a stick. But Ben thought that if there were no other students around him who played quite good for their age, his father would have clapped proudly, like the other parents had, as to them when they saw their child, they saw no one else. As for Ben's father, he saw only what he needed and his word was final. Though not really a world, but a telepathic thought that ran though his thoughts to Ben's "Its ok son, we wont tell anyone about this. Not word" and that was his father's solution to the problems of which Ben chose to confide in him, everytime hoping for a more affectionate answer, but after a few years, he gave up the search for sympathy in a pitted heart of cold rocks. That was Ben's father, Ben's mother was a different sort of character whose smile was like a lighthouse at the edge of a cliff, inviting and bright to the lonely sailors and Ben was her own voyager.

Learn more about this author, Melissa Taylor.
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