Chapter 11: The First Books
Some books don’t just tell stories. They change you.

He didn’t know that at the time. He just turned the pages.

The first was Number the Stars. Anne Frank, hiding in an attic, her entire world ripped away. She had to be silent. She had to disappear to survive.

Something about that stuck with him.

Then came The Giver. A world where memories were locked away, where one boy was chosen to carry the burden of feeling.

And suddenly, it clicked—giving meant sacrifice.

Maybe that’s where it started. The need to give. The need to carry.

Maybe that’s where he first learned how to disappear.
#ai #aiart #reading #books #school #thegiver #annefrank #disappear #magic #escape

The boy had one real friend.

His friend lived across the street, and together, they built whole worlds inside an old Super Nintendo. They fought battles as Power Rangers, their fingers quick on the controller, their laughter filling the space between school and sleep.

Then one day, his parents said they were moving.

There was no discussion, no way to stop it. Just a fact.

On his last day in that house, the boy jumped on the trampoline, the sky stretched wide above him. Across the street, his friends house sat still. He wouldn’t knock on the door. Wouldn’t say goodbye.

Because how do you say goodbye to the only place you ever belonged?

That night, they packed up the house. And when they left for a new world, the boy cried.

But no one really saw.
#ai #aiart #story #storytelling #trampoline #life #moving #goodbye #seeyoulater #boxes #art #car #ride

Chapter 7: The First Song
The first time the boy understood music, he was sitting in the back seat of his mother’s car.

The world outside blurred past—school fading behind him, home still miles away—but inside, Alan Jackson’s "Livin on Love" played through the speakers.

His mother sang softly, more to herself than to anyone else. She wasn’t performing, just existing in the song, letting the music fill the space between them.

He didn’t know the words yet, but he wanted to.

So he listened. He studied the melody, the way the lyrics moved, the rhythm that felt like something bigger than sound.

And for the first time, he felt the pull of something just beyond reach.

It wasn’t just a song. It was a moment, a feeling, a place he wanted to step into.

He wanted to sing it right. He wanted to know it like she did.

And maybe—without realizing it—this was the first time he thought about being on a stage. Not because he wanted to be seen, but because he wanted to be inside the music itself.

Looking back, the memory is hazy. He doesn’t remember the full ride home, doesn’t remember if she ever turned the volume up and sang louder, doesn’t remember if he ever did get the words right.

But he remembers that feeling.

And maybe that’s where it all started.
#ai #aiart #storytelling #country #music #space #cowboy #love #car #backseat #onstage #truth

Before the moving, before the leaving, before any friends—there was her.

She was his first friend. They rode bikes through the neighborhood, cool fall air pushing against their faces, streetlights flickering as they passed. Looping around the block in an endless circuit of childhood freedom.

Sometimes, they stopped at her house.

It wasn’t like his. He doesn’t remember much—just that the door was always closed. A door that separated something. A door that kept something in.

Inside, they played Super Nintendo, passing controllers back and forth. Their favorite game was a zombie shooter—waves of the undead moving toward them, relentless. They fought them off together, the way they were supposed to.

She loved The Lion King. They’d watch it between games, the TV flickering, the world outside disappearing.

And then—sometimes—she’d whisper, “We need to hide under the bed.”

He never asked why. He just did. It was a game, wasn’t it? That’s what kids did. They hid. They played. They followed rules they didn’t yet understand.

Then, one day, she said, “You should touch me right here.”

She said it was because they were friends. And at that age, what else was there to believe?

So he did. Because that’s what you do when you trust someone. When no one has told you otherwise.

The memory is blurry. He doesn’t remember the atmosphere, the words, or the weight of it all. Just that it happened. That it was normal—or at least, that no one ever said otherwise.

But looking back, he sees it now—the cracks in the world he didn’t understand yet.

The closed door.
The hiding.
The way she framed touch as friendship.

And now, with time stretched out behind him, he wonders—

Who was behind that door? What was she hiding from?

And why did no one come looking for them?
#scifi #ai #aiart #storytelling #truth #space #cowboy #games #love #friendship #young #hideout

Chapter 5: The Magician and the Ghosts
On his birthday, the boy decided to become a magician.

He read about hat tricks and sleight-of-hand illusions, learning how to manipulate the world around him. He set up a curtain in the hallway, placed a table in front of it, and prepared for his performance.

But the audience wasn’t kind.

His aunt, the one who always had something to say, called him names—mocking, belittling, turning his moment of wonder into something small, something laughable. Every time he reached for something outside the box, there was always someone there to tell him he was wrong.

To dismiss him.

And maybe that’s why he kept running.

#magic #love #ai #aiart #youarelovedmorethanyouknow #space #cowboy #magician #show #passion

Chapter 3: The Woman in the Street
Some things, once seen, can’t be unseen.

The boy stood on the front porch, watching the night stretch out over the quiet street. The neighborhood was still, the way it always was after dark. But then—movement. A woman, jogging on the opposite side of the road, dressed in dark clothing. He didn’t know who she was, didn’t know where she was going.

And then, headlights.

A car turned onto the street behind her, its tires humming against the pavement. The boy watched as the woman made a choice—she stepped off the curb, right into the car’s path.

For a split second, he thought, She’s not going to make it.

Then—impact.

Her body lifted from the ground, thrown forward like she had been ripped from reality itself. Ten feet, maybe more. The sound of metal hitting flesh, the eerie silence afterward, like the world itself was holding its breath.

And then, everything blurred.

A police officer came to the door. His parents spoke in hushed tones. They told him to go inside, but he had something to say. He saw it happen. He was a witness to something real, something dark. But his words didn’t matter.

They never asked what he saw. They never asked how he felt.

So, like everything else, it became a story only he carried.

#scifi #ai #aiart #storytelling #truth #death #space #cowboy #skateboard #skateboarding