I have been alive for a couple thousand years.
I stopped counting the years when I was around six hundred years old.
I don’t know why I’m still alive. I still look the same as when I was ten.
It is actually quite sad, living this long.
None of my friends from all those years ago are still alive.
Sometimes, I’ll accidentally speak some Anglo-Saxon and my current friends will look at me like I’m insane. At least I can speak Latin pretty well.
My favorite of my years was in the early nineteen hundreds. My friend Agatha Christie and I would share our writing; although, in the end, she was the better writer. Hopefully, my current friend, Mina and I can spend a long time together.
Being immortal is tragic, and I feel like everyone I know and love will eventually disappear. No matter how much everything hurts, it never stops. I wish that this nightmare could be over, but it never will be.
[Story by Thisbe McMichael, 11, Killington, submitted by teacher Allison Gormly, Killington Elementary School]
Posted in response to the challenge Immortal.