365 Project: Day One "Beginning"

Heyo!

So I am sort of a hobby photographer. It's an obsession of mine. So, naturally, I joined Flickr.com, which is a photography based website. There's a challenge of sorts on this website, and it's called the 365 Project. The goal is to take and upload a photo every day for an entire year. I myself have tried and failed this project many times. But I love to go through and follow the journeys of other photographers (especially fellow teenagers) as they sweat and toil to complete their projects. Many fail and few succeed.

One of my favorite photographers to follow is Alex Stoddard. I came across his flickr stream when he was on Day 40 of his project. The title of that photograph is, "Today I fell in love with The Weepies." The Weepies are a band. I very much love that band. I instantly fell in love and knew that his journey was going to touch and inspire me. I was right.

I get bored and frustrated with the 365 Project. Because even though I love photography and am passionate about it, it's not my heart's true love. That is and will always be writing. And so, I'm doing a 365 Project of my own! From this day on, I will write one short story or poem a day, and it will be based off of, or inspired by the pictures Alex took. So Day One of my project is inspired by Day One of his, and so forth. I will do this every single day for a year. Wish me luck!

1/365
"Beginning." Photograph --> http://www.flickr.com/photos/alex-stoddard/4549673133/in/set-72157624050180762/

They call me the Metal Man. They say that I have no feelings in my fleshless body. They say I have no thoughts in my tiny tin mind. They talk amongst themselves and they say that I have no heart, that I have no soul.

I do not disprove them. I stare at them blankly from my hollow eyes. I nod mechanically and lurch away, very much the Metal Man they make me out to be. They don't understand. They don't know what it's like to be hurt the way I've been hurt.

They don't think about what could be behind the rusting smile of the Metal Man: cursed to wake up and wish he didn't. Doomed to roam the earth looking sadly at the broken world from a neglected body. They're the lucky ones, the ones who talk about the Metal Man. I pity them. I despise them. I envy them.

But perhaps they are right. Perhaps I have no heart; own no soul. Maybe I am simply a Metal Man. The cursed tin grows slowly over my skin; a thin coating of armor in it's own right. What it's keeping in, I understand.

What it's keeping out, I fear.