Etc., not etcetera.

I am (obviously) an anonymous person.

I hope none of you ever figure out who I am.

I want to be anonymous to write free.

That being said, thank you for visiting this page. Please check out the different stories and poems, and I would be delighted if you left a review. You see, I haven't had too many so far, so I get very excited whenever I see a new one.

Introduction - About the person named Etc. and the story Bluebird.

I'm sifting through paper late at night, I left it for last again, but I have 3 more days, so I'm in no hurry. Which papers do I keep, which do I throw away? Some papers, like old math homework or history notes, I only glance at before putting them in the right pile, but every once in a while I find something different. A stack of old english freewrites, a first grade paper yearbook held together with staples, a picture I drew. Each of these is a link to another memory. I open the yearbook and look at the sloppy writing of my young classmates. They all say the same types of things; have a good summer, I didn't really get to know you this year maybe next year, see you next year. Sometimes there's only a name. I don't remember any of the names. The only name that conjures up the memory of that day is a teachers signature, blue, loopy and intricate. I look at it and immediately I start to remember. Running down the wide space between two buildings, toes getting wet through my sandals from the drops of water on the green summer grass. The air was vibrant with the feel of summer and the voices of children as they ran to and fro saying goodbye to friends, signing yearbooks, or just standing around waiting for school to end.

I look at the doodle. Its actually a sort of messy diagram. That day our high school PE teacher was absent. So our class was given to another teacher, so time to break out the basketballs. The boys games are always so competitive its impossible to join or even talk to one out of breath teen with both eyes on the game and only one spare ear, to listen to anything you have to say for more than a split second. They always monopolize the two center hoops, the ones with the most running space. The others of us usually play on one of the four hoops to either side. There are usually one or two halfway competitive games being played on those. Halfway competitive is a bit misleading though, they are competitive, but its not a do or die thing like in the boys center games. They are also usually co-ed, so sometimes I'm able to join those. More often the fringe people, who either aren't competitive or good at basketball, like me, grab a spare ball if there is one and play something simple like "horse". That day there were no extra balls or courts, so I sat down with my friend, and somehow I got ahold of a paper and a pen, and started to draw an idea I had out of the blue, and then developed on it. It was a kind of weird idea to them, but I thought it was awesome, and I still think its pretty cool. "I could tell you but I might bore you", to borrow the words of a friend.

I wonder what it would be like if there was a world full of creatures like in my doodle. I decide that I could try to write a short story about this world, crazy though it might turn out to be. I worry that my writing wont be good enough, but there is a convenient thing call anoniminity. There is a website I heard of, where I can put all my writings, no matter how imperfect or horrible, and not have to worry. I hold my fingers over the keyboard trying to come up with a good name for this new persona I am creating. Something that is me but people wont know it... Being horrible with creating names, I stay frozen like that for about 10 minutes before I decide, what the hey, I'm making this to be imperfect anyways, why not use a word I always used to mispronounce? Etcetera, or how I said it 'eck-T-kit' spelled Ectiqite or something like that. Yes, perfect. I will be putting in all the extra in this, Etc. is the right name for it. Now I can let my fingers fly free over this keyboard, finally, I don't have to worry about being judged, now I can let go, hold nothing back at all. In my minds eye I see a tree with branches growing, stretching in all directions, and I call it imagination, and hope mine can grow through this as well.