The damp, cool dew of the morning lay upon the newly spruced grass. The smooth, crisp yet subtle spring breeze grazed across the dense grass filled acre as the sounds of a seasoned lawn mower moseyed along, busy at its craft. At the ridge of the clearing, close to the boundaries leading to the next complex sat a man. Let us call him Carmichael.

He, as a man of his word was told to sit down and make a list of love. Not too specific of a task but for a truly introspective mind like himself, this was worth the time of day he felt worth giving respect to. On the stiff composition book where he wrote his subject topic, he thought of first what could he be doing better at this moment. Young Carmichael had chores three days overdue to complete, he also had to read his lesson for the class he would be missing spending his time idly outside on the commemorative Heroes’s bench, however he seemed to stay obedient to his wishes and to the ones of the person who told him his detail for the day.

Young Carmichael opened the newly acquired book with his thin overbearing hands. He could feel the tension of the book; the force needed since even the bindings of the book was new, was apparent. Carmichael methodically searched his backpack for an appropriate writing utensil -- just then he flung his books, papers, probable writing utensils all to to peer over the ledge of the bench to watch the motions of a feeble inchworm. To Young Carmichael nothing mattered else, and why would it. The incomparable amount of joy one can get by just imagining a small green thingy and then seeing it, oh God must of been watching him that day. He followed it up a tree for a while but got lost by train of thought by a wispy butterfly taking his eyes away from his focus. The butterfly led him back to seat where he remembered his task.

Now there is a bit more life in the surrounding area. The campus-like vicinity was teeming with life now which irritated Carmichael through he couldn’t express to anyone. Then he looked to the book. He remembered his task he looked forward to for a while, about three hours after he planned that his chores wasn’t necessary. So he positioned himself how he used to see his grandfather sit and mimicked his motions and grabbed at the composition notebook. His felt as if it was time for him to get serious.

He started to list the influences credited: number one was first and foremost Shrek, secondly he wrote his mother’s name which he paused for a moment. He seemed to absorb the message of the name relative to the paper accepting the permanent ink. Carmichael wrote other childhood names he could gather from his memory however his mother’s name seems to appear again on this page. This time, the same paper which can absorb the ink from the pen had absorbed a tear from Young Carmichael. He goes into a slump now for hours, still only uttering the words “i’ll be with you soon.”