Little Red Book | Teen Ink

Little Red Book

October 7, 2021
By TheRareBreed PLATINUM, Lambertville, Michigan
TheRareBreed PLATINUM, Lambertville, Michigan
41 articles 0 photos 44 comments

Favorite Quote:
“The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." I guess that means we're just products of whoever made us and we don't have much control. The thing is, when people use that phrase, they ignore the most critical part: the falling. Within the logic of that saying, the apple falls every single time. Not falling isn't an option. So, if the apple has to fall, the most important question in my mind is what happens to it upon hitting the ground? Does it touch down with barely a scratch? Or does it smash on impact? Two vastly different fates. When you think about it, who cares about its proximity to the tree or what type of tree spawned it? What really makes all the difference, then, is how we land.”
― Val Emmich, Dear Evan Hansen

There is a slight hum in the room. Feels like a fly, buzzing around my head.

 People are having conversations. Loud ones, quiet ones, then suddenly “shhhhhh” everyone quiets down.  You could hear a pin drop. 

Then there's me. Im red, leathery, ironed, and burnt with the dragons battling on all sides. 

A sword pierces my side, yet there is no blood. It doesn’t hurt.

 If you look at me you’d think nothing of it.

 “Oh look,” you say. “Another useless scrap.” 

The truth is im anything but.

 Im everything and nothing.

 Im a universe and a dream.

 Im hope and im lost.

 But most of all, Im the book that is bound to my creator.

 My pen marks are run deeper than any sword.

 The black burns of the ink are more visible than any fire from any dragon.

 The emotion I feel is more than the red on my face.

 I am bound by my shackles and my creator’s salvation.

 I am his hope and his loss.

 His life and his death.

 His dreams and his faults.

 I am the dragon, in red, with words of all.

 Held by few, seen by ones who fall.

 “For he who carries the pen, shall always lay down the sword.”

 So for those to come and those who pass, and those who look past his broken glass.

 Take a look deeper inside, and maybe you’ll find the secrets we hide.

Right now Im shaking.

 Shiver and freeze in the darkness of my home.

 Suddenly there is a toss, and Im thrown across my home.

 There is more chatter, familiar voices, new voices, deep ones, and soft ones.

 They overlap and make me close myself more to the world when suddenly im blinded.

 Light courses through my home as the top is taken off and im taken out.

 My latch rattles and shakes as the warmth envelopes me.

 There’s a click of the latch and the rustling of pages.

 Im listening, hearing, and remembering everything around me.

 A girl broke up with her boyfriend.

 A father sends his son home.

 A child remembers the past and scribbles it down inside,

 ink dripping…



 Staining the floor, the pages, the world I remember.

 Im scared of what’s next, happy for the past, and forgetting the present.

 I start to shrivel in the light.

 My words fade and my stories told.

 Im not forgotten but not remembered.

 I feel burning. It hurts.

 All I can feel is the pain, it burns.

 I call out but no one hears me.



 Help me.

 I cry out and then suddenly, as fast as it came it’s gone.

 The latch is in place and it’s dark.

 Almost as if it never happened.

 But I remember.

 No one else knows, or maybe they don’t care.

 “Useless scrap, not worth my time.”

 To that, I say you would pay my fine.

 I have loved and lost,

 cared and broke,

 shattered and repaired.

 But no one sees.

 Just shiver and freeze in the darkness of my home.

I feel warm all of the sudden.

 My home receives warmth.

 It pulsates, it writhes against its constraints.

 Hot and searing,

 cold and locked,

 even cracked in some places.

 Turn my head, try as I might,

 there are vessels that contain me from flight.

 Bandages fall and blood has flown,

 like the ink that makes my bones.

 Chains like lava and locks like ice,

 I played the game once and going on twice.

  Looking down at paths divided,

 seeing a world completely one-sided.

 Connecting to chains and locks alike,

creating the worlds of fire and ice.

 Once was whole, warm, and one.

 Now unlocks for fewer than none.

The heart that is drawn and home to me,

 where one too many have lost the key.

 The key is broken beyond repair,

and there is no copy to give the heir.

 So as I leave with my head down low,

 headphones on in 6-foot snow.

 This is the story as you may know,

 of a boy who walks alone.

 Headphones on, the world ahead,

 and from his side all have fled.

 One could say not by choice,

 his story is told without a voice.

 Picture to picture,

 word to word,

 cursing the heart of one whos been hurt.

 So he enters a castle of fire and ice,

 and chooses a path after checking it twice.

 For the first time ever speaking alone,

 this is how he walks on home.

And some forget

That his tears are wet.

He bleeds like you and feels regret.

And so he moves on his path, 

Walking along with tears falling past

They drip and drop

All over the floor

He wishes he knew what happened once more

For his mind holds him back

His wires are tied and sent him off track.

So before we go and follow his body

Let’s see what the mind holds for nobody

Because as you take a sad little peek

You see a kid who cannot speak

His ears are gone 

And tears flow red

He never knows what he did or said.

He forever wonders what he did wrong,

And hopes his friends would meet him head-on

But as he learns once again

They don’t get his mind, my friend

But moving on from the sidetracked road

Let us follow where he walked alone

So as he walks, trudges, and trips,

 He finds a watery edge and a big blue ship.

 Taking a step and falling right through,

 not yet worthy, right or true.

 So he dives into the deep.

 Perfect form for an autistic freak.

 No one hears him scream or gasp,

 his voice didn’t come for long till past.

 So he swims, dives and dashes, splashing through the miles of ashes.

 Diving right under for one final time,

 burst into flames as the clock will chime.

 Emerging from a fiery embrace,

 born anew like a phoenix that won the race.

 His voice back and his eyes wide open,

 writing and singing for those awoken.

 So we bring the story to a close,

 as my lock is latched for the last of those.

 The heir has a key, the heart is healed,

 and the boy no longer is concealed.

 So walking along a watery path,

 split with fire and born from ash.

 He chooses to go down the middle road,

 in which he no longer will walk alone.

 His head held high and his headphones off,

 he shall rise above this loss.

 Loss of love, of hope, of light,

 he guides himself through the night.

 He closed my red leathery feel,

 sealing my lock after his last reveal.

 So he sits once again,

 that slight hum starts to dim.

 The fly that buzzed around is gone and left me onward bound.

 Conversations finally come to a halt,

 loud ones, quiet ones, and no ones at fault.

 The story never really will end,

 until he is heard from all that fall.

 So while I may start to close,

 keep an eye out for a red book they know.

 Has dragons burning front and back,

 sword on the spine to block an attack.

 You never know what you’ll read until you find the writer’s seed.

 You’ll know when you know what that is,

 for it has been gifted to those who hid.

The author's comments:

I, Wade, am a high-functioning autistic. I know, shocking. My left hand is deformed and has been from birth. I have encountered so much heartache and this is about where some of that goes. I want to show people like me, with anxiety, social issues, and who may just be wired differently that there is hope beyond the things in front of you. Just find the writer's seed.

Similar Articles


This article has 5 comments.

AtlasK GOLD said...
on Sep. 23 at 8:18 am
AtlasK GOLD, Tirana, Other
18 articles 1 photo 8 comments

Favorite Quote:
It seems to be a law of nature, inflexible and inexorable, that those who will not risk cannot win - John Paul Jones.

I can feel the emotions and pain in your words and, if I understood it correctly, understand some of your pain. I hope things will get better for you.

on Apr. 10 at 9:11 pm
Kingpoet2806 GOLD, Collierville, Tennessee
18 articles 0 photos 36 comments

Favorite Quote:
Her heart was an open book with beautiful pages and detailed lettering. She wanted people to read her story in hopes that it would make them write their own. Instead, every person who came across the pages of her heart ripped out their favorite story and took it with them. They folded back pages and bent up corners. They signed their name with sloppy writing and with a simple 'goodbye'. This book is now tucked away in the darkest parts of her, because no one wants to read a tragic story with a bad ending.

@TheRareBreed this was so good. your writing inspires me

on Feb. 10 at 10:51 am
dunsmores1 GOLD, Ledyard, Connecticut
12 articles 0 photos 18 comments

Favorite Quote:
There's a million things I haven't done, but just you wait."

~Hamilton (Via Lin-Manuel Miranda)

Hey, this is Sarah, I wrote tears that you commented on. This is so great with the emotion and smooth feel. <3

on Jan. 16 at 12:01 pm
CaliFranceGurl648 GOLD, San Diego, California
11 articles 1 photo 125 comments

Favorite Quote:
“I am a California girl, born and raised, so flip-flops and cutoff shorts are my go-to look."

– Meghan Markle

So full of emotion.

Afra DIAMOND said...
on Nov. 19 2021 at 5:34 am
Afra DIAMOND, Kandy, Other
77 articles 7 photos 1666 comments

Favorite Quote:
"You can’t ask other people to believe you and vote for you if you don’t back yourself."
-Jacinda Ardern-

"If I can make someone's day brighter, happier, better, that makes me happier."
-Ava Max-

"A writer must never be short of ideas."
-Gabriel Agreste- (Fictional character- Miraculous)

"A Bridge Has Two Sides."
-Elsa- (Fictional character- Frozen)

“I knew who I was as a girl but I had to find who I was as a woman.”
-Delta Goodrem-

Wow...This is a nice poem, buddy...
Keep writing...

Check my poem out too...