My name is James. I don't know how I came about to be born at the castle doorsteps of the depressive king. I was a happy-go-lucky fellow. I had one of those happy-go-lucky faces that lit the darkest of situations. I had the body of a baby and my bones could withstand the most violent rumbles. My body was made to withstand the mood swings of the most depressive king. And, I was one of those people who believed in their own capabilities. I was a natural baby, I was gifted with an aptitude of growing fast. I grew quicker than any other baby I knew. At four months old, I could crawl. At five months old, I could walk.
'Sometimes people really push you to your limits; they make you feel like you can't breathe and then, once you don't breathe, they start asking why you aren't breathing. They keep pressing and hitting you, punching and kicking, until all your air is gone, until your brain starts doing somersaults and all you're left with is a sensation of falling, falling, falling…'
Recently, I started devoting more time to my storytelling, so I made a slight adjustment to the title. I am no longer a writer; I am a storyteller, or, even better, a mythmaker. The stories I tell don't need to be factual or logical. They do not have to stick to the rules. They do not have to entertain. They do not have to teach. They do not have to make sense. I am simply dabbling with words, for my own entertainment, for yours, for my own sheer pleasure, for however long it lasts. I don't have to have a plot and I can have as many (or as few) characters as I want. I can place a story right here, right where you see it, as a simple as it is and as convoluted as I feel like. And there is nothing, absolutely nothing that can stop me. I am a mythmaker now.
And just like all mythmakers, I have my characters. Some of them were created long ago, some showed up recently and you're getting to know them now. You are not the first though. I have been writing stories for awhile now and all of them were left undone. These stories were not, for whatever reason, worthy for me to continue them. 'The glass castle of a depressed king' however, is special. Of all the creations I've made, this one is the most unique, the most different and the most unusual. This one is, no doubt, the best.
I suppose it all started when I let my dreams get too close to reality. When I allowed myself to believe that, perhaps, there was a glass castle right under my nose and, maybe, if I tried hard enough, I could touch and shape it. I had to leave that castle though, because it was the one thing I couldn't grasp. I was not special. I couldn't live up to the high standards I set for myself. I was not meant for greatness. Or maybe, and this is my favourite theory, I was destined to meet a few great people, to learn from them and be as great as them. One way, or another, I was made to wander in circles, trying to find a life that wasn't mine. And while my soul may be broken, my stories have never been. They may have included some sad moments (which, if you ask me, is the life's definition of a sad story), some moments that may have made you feel uncomfortable (which, sorry, is just a side of life), a little bit of ruffling and a few more than expected explosions. It's just the story of my life.
My mind may be a labyrinth of twists and turns with each step bringing new thoughts, new conclusions and new opportunities, but my stories are the only true paths I will ever tread.
Every question has its answer in a story. Every life has its place, in a story.