The Thought Box

Hi, it's storyblogger77! This week I am bringing you an actual story, and not a myth. Sorry if you got confused and thought that I was going to be writing myths. Most of the time, I will not. You may occasionally will see me write myths, but not today. I hope you enjoy this story called, "The Thought Box".
Sometimes I will stare up at the ceiling and wait for destiny to immerse itself in my future. By that, I mean think about my importance. I am really only a speck on a very, very big picture. I will never make any difference on this earth. I will never mean anything to anyone. I am not of any importance. So I wonder why I am really set on this Earth. Yes, I know that sounds hardh. My parents say I am anorexic, my teachers say I am delusional, I say that I am half dead.
My mind does not work like most peoples. Most people get good feelings for doing something good or fun. I punish myself because I say that it is a waste of time. I should not be doing anything at all if I am eventually going to die. Why do we do anything if it will not mean anything after we crock? Then, after finding that I had not eaten in two days, my parents took me to a therapist.
The therapist's name was Peggy. She asked me questions, and I answered. Only to make Peggy even more aggravated.
"What is your favorite color?" Peggy asked in a soothing tone.
"I do not have a favorite color." I answered back, moaning.
"Okay," Peggy said scribbling something a clip-board.
"How about a favorite subject in school?"
"I do not like school." I groaned. To be truthful, I do not like many things. Especially school. The teachers would always send me to the counselor. Oh, but I hate the counselor. The counselor was more deranged than me. He had curly, black hair, and always wore sweaters. He always tried to fix me, like I was a broken wind-up toy, flipping on its back continually. He talked to me like I was three.
"Now why were you a bad girl in class?" he asked tilting his head to the side, as if it would help me comprehend the question.
"It's a free country," I murmured.
"I know that. What I want to know is why you disobey your teacher?"
"Good bye," I said, walking out of the room. This may seem quite strange, but I do this all the time. When people treat me like crap, I will walk out of the room. It is a perfect solution for anything. I get frustrated, I walk out. The therapist is acting stupid, I walk out. The creep counselor is getting on my nerves (all the time), I walk out. My parents get mad at me, I walk out. Then, I suddenly stopped doing that. It was not my mind controlling me, it was the thought box.
The thought box was brought to my attention by Peggy. She had brought is a silver chest with a golden lock on it. It had copper writing across it reading "The Thouhgt Box". Peggy told me that I was to put my thoughts in there, and the next time I saw her, we would discuss them. So I did as she said. The first week I wrote
"Stupid Counselor (Not you)" and "Good Bye" Peggy brought the box in the next week and pulled out the two slips of paper in the box. First, she read
"Good bye, okay. Let's start with that. What does good bye mean to you?" Peggy asked.
"It means that I want to leave here. Just say good bye to this world." I said, speaking louder than before.
"Okay, making progress. Now, why is it that you want to say good bye?" Peggy's eyes drilling into my soul.
"Because," I said taking a long pause, "Because I feel that I am wasting my time here." Peggy stared at me, wide-eyed, blinking in astonishment.
"Okay now, what I want you to understand is that you are not wasting your time. You shall prosper in life, if you try hard. You are here to make a difference. Are we on the same page?"
"Yes, now I must go." I stood up from Peggy's dark purple velvet chair, opened the big wooden doors to her office, and stepped out. That night, I did not sleep, I layed on my bed, wrapping myself around the idea that I did have a place here, a feeling I had never felt before.

I hope you enjoyed my newest creation! I had a lot of fun writing it.
Good luck writers!
Sincerely,
storyblogger77

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