The Scribe
By J. L. Young This is my confession to the world. As a child, I knew nothing of the consequences my words carried. I write this hoping someone would see my power was not used intentionally to create suffering. My childhood desires were the ink in my pen. I heard humans used scarcity to inflate value. Precious metals such as gold, platinum, lithium, and palladium, with their many uses, were now prevalent, and their monetary value plummeted to nothing. My hand fulfilled that desire. I grew tired of the world being ripped apart for these commodities. I made them readily available. With a single gesture of my hand, my pen drew upon the paper that war was never to be an option. If all avenues of diplomacy had been taken and war was the inevitable outcome, then a game of chess was to be played. The victors were never to win land, money, or resources. I saved many lives. Soon, food, water, and other resources became scarce. I attempted to correct that mistake. One mistake led to another. And the lives I spared from war were ultimately snuffed out by hunger, thirst, and other means of death. During my teenage years, I wanted to be a professional baseball player. The best that ever was. Somehow, that never came to fruition. Perhaps the desire wasn’t strong enough. That’s when I studied to be a surgeon. That didn’t go well. Many people suffered because of my notes. However, the want for birds to be our friends was a great desire. I wrote they would come in our time of need to help us and guide us through tumultuous times. I was the reason for many bird species to go extinct. I relinquish my ability to cast my desires into reality. My pen will no longer be the conduit for my wants, wishes, or passing thoughts. I will no longer attempt to change the fates of the populous. May my sacrifice bode well for all the creatures of the Earth.
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May 2024
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