fourteen years

So I turned twenty-five the other day and the sudden realization came to me that I only have five more years left to take over the world. No, wait, you don’t understand. I’ve been trying since I was eleven and now time is really running out. Cause, frankly, if you don’t achieve world domination by thirty you might as well give up. In fact, right about now I’m getting pretty desperate. I’d even settle for partial world domination. Perhaps even a single continent would suffice.

You see, its not that I’m being arrogant or anything. It’s a matter of childhood dreams. When I was young I always imagined being something truly exceptional at a global level. It seemed clear that I deserved world recognition and all I had to do was do something amazing to start people noticing. So the evident thing to do was to get into the Guinness Book of World Records. Many an evening was filled trying to stuff as many gobstoppers in my mouth as possible, or standing on my head for hours (or minutes – logic says minutes but my memory says hours). But I never did becoming a ninja, or a robot. No radioactive spiders ever bit me. My great novel remained unspellchecked and unfinished (I had a tendency, even then, to make up words and write without looking at the screen). But I knew, as I know now, all these things were merely setbacks. My Wiley E. Coyote mind still kept the heart of the idea beating. The roadrunner could be, nay would be, caught. Inside the eleven year old inside me stands still in a lit doorway all ashadowed. One day… One day my lovelies. All your bases shall be mine.

~ riaz

plotting...