1 or the not so original origins of a romantic dreamer and how you naively planned your soul’s premature passing
You were what you were. There’s no coming back from it. No way you can change it. What you can change is what you are now. And what you are is not entirely up to you, sadly, but let’s say you might have a say here and there. Don’t waste those chances. What you will be, instead, well, that’s a whole different problem of agency we won’t dwell into right now. Let’s stick with the story at least for a while.
For narrative reasons, we can call what you were Phonzo, whose dream hasn’t always been to become a scrivener.
Before joining the high schoolers, you thought your destiny would’ve been fulfilled in the evil science field as a mad inventor or a corpses doctor. Then, you went high enough to opt for an unclear and unstable career path as only freelance scribing can be. Path that you tried to make as foggy as it could go, avoiding it in the beginning while lying to yourself about your true intentions. In fact, you studied How To Charm And Lie To People From A Stage for a year and Language And Stuff Related To Random Foreign Lands for an undefined number of Earth’s orbits. You then decided it was about time to go back to the not-so-original plan.
You went from zero to part-time unpaid scribe in a matter of weeks, writing for two papers at the same time: a local weird gazette and a religious bulletin. You never saw coins of any currency queueing to fill your pockets, but you joined the Honourable Gild of News Scribes in the end. A good accomplishment for your social networks, but not enough for your supposedly creative hunger. News weren’t exciting at all, you couldn’t care less about delivering them. You had a lot going on in your head and wanted to channel it through your writing, but even more through a very well pictured form of narration.
That’s when you found and joined a high-priced training in the Fine Art of Scribing for the Big and Small Screen. You learned a lot, but not enough to find a profitable profession. Not that you truly looked for it anyway. Preventive complaints are an historical tradition from where you come from.
Your brain was giving you hard times because it was ready to take a new deranged decision. It was being pushed by many different reasons of course. Leaving your nest, leaving your hometown and leaving your motherland were strong enough on their own, however, moving to Londinium had its appeal and pros. The richest and most crowded settlement in the Ancient World, in which anyone’s dreams can come true, from runner to award-winning director and stuff like that. Where anyone can be whatever they want to be and do whatever they want to do because there people know so much better, because Celts are wicked, mate! In there, you would have found more lessons to learn, more positions to occupy, more money to earn and, of course, a brand-new life framed in delicious freedom.
Although you were full of youth and hope, you believed you were cynical and sceptical enough, but, well, you were not. You had no clue about the far to be unveiled true face of the journey you were going to be committing to. You had no idea of the variety of flavours you would’ve smelt or the multitude of fragrances you would’ve eaten as well as the endless amount of working hours which would’ve shortened every day of your life. You did not know about the dirt and all the many different ways they, the Celts, have to hide it under the carpet. You trusted the wrong stereotypes, you read the wrong stories, you dreamt the wrong dreams. Your Romantic soul lied to yourself about Londinium and you would’ve found it out way too late.
It was already after eight in the evening when you announced your not-so-original-but-actually-quite-foggy-and-dreamy plan.