The Impact of a Writer

The fire was all about. He relished it. Who knew he could do something so great. He smiled. He was causing such great destruction. He loved it. He was changing the world, he was destroying the people. He was the master. The master of fire. What does fire do? It burns things, it destroys. He heard a woman scream in pain as the flames swallowed her. He grinned. He was delighted.

****

I walked down the street. It was dark and stormy. The dampness all around made me shiver with cold. No one was happy, no one ever was. Not here. The mood was dark and miserable. I walked slowly, head down, not meeting any eyes.

As I walked past the tavern a man stumbled out into the street. It was Joe Tristram, the writer who lived in town. Joe was a good writer and wrote some incredible stories. There was one of his book in particular, Death by fire, that everyone read! No one could get enough of this book. Even myself.

I continued to walk on, feeling forlorn and apart from the world.

As I walked along I saw another pair of feet. But these were different. These feet walked as if they were happy. I looked up at the man. I had never seen him before. I looked again at my own feet, but my eyes kept returning to watch the other mans steps.

What made him so cheerful? I thought. Did he not feel the gloom all about? I wondered, hoping to find an answer until I finally worked up the courage to tapped him on the shoulder and ask, “Why are you so happy?” “Well why not!” He replied in a deep, smiling voice.

Still puzzled I asked,“Who are you?”

“Me? I am Ashton Ewart. I am a writer.”

“Why are you here?”

“To write of course. Your town seems like it needs a good writer.”

“But we have a writer here.”

Mr. Ewart seemed shocked.

“You do? What is his name?”

“Mr. Joe Tristram.” I answered sullenly.

Mr. Ewart just laughed. It felt good to hear someone laugh, and I caught myself smiling.

“Well that would be your problem,” He said.

I looked at him cluelessly.

“You see,” Mr. Ewart said smiling. “Joe is a fantastic writer. He has the ability to let his readers see and feel things in a powerful way. But...” he sighed sadly.

“The things that he writes are rarely good. Yes, his writings are enjoyable, but they don’t make people want to be better. If anything his writings bring them down.”

“But what about his Death by Fire book?”

He looked at me and asked. “How does that book make you feel?”

I was shocked. I stood there not knowing what to say. I had never paid attention to how the book had made me feel. Mr. Ewart handed me a book and said, “I want you to read this.”

I nodded, and said I would. He looked me straight in the eyes. “When you read it, pay careful attention to how it makes you feel. Which book made you feel like you wanted to be a better person?”

He smiled, tipped his hat and walked away. I stood there, lost in thought. Finally I looked at the book. It was simply titled, Bayani. I opened to a random page and read.

There are times in a persons life in which they must do hard things. I was facing one of those times. Things had happened that didn’t let me rest. There were things I knew I must do. These things would stretch me, I knew that much. But I needed to be stretched. If I did these things, I, yes, I would be a better person. I knew that I could not knowingly let evil reign. I knew I had to stop the fire from spreading.

Days later I realized what Mr. Ewart was trying to tell me. Joe Tristram was a good writer, but his writings did not convey goodness. The things that we had been reading were not making us want to be better people. They were making us be less than the best we could be.

A few months later I was again walking down the street. But something this time was different. The sun was shining. Children were laughing. Mothers were humming a delightful tune. Everyone walked with more bounce in their step and a smile on their face. No one walked with their head down. All were happy.

As I walked my good friend Ashton Ewart stepped out of the bookshop, laughing at something the bookkeeper had said. He looked as I walked passed. He smiled and winked.