I Write The Songs. (Note: this is based off of the song "I Write the Songs" by Barry Manilow.)

Submitted into Contest #14 in response to: It's a literary fiction story about growing up.... view prompt



I’ve been alive forever. And when I say forever I mean, forever. In fact, I wrote the very first song, sort of. It was one of my more great accomplishments. I guess you could say it was one of his greatest accomplishments, but it was not he who thought up of the words or wrote the music. Not really. 

It was actually me.


He was a bright young man, and, like any boy his age, was constantly hoping and wishing that someday he would be well known, and liked by everybody.

He was my first subject. 

One ordinary day as the yellow sun turned numerous shades, it’s dim colors lighting up the dulling sky, my subject was in a very emotional mood. He felt as if he needed something more. Something better. He wanted to be acknowledged. He needed it. He had to give his loved ones something to be proud of, not something to be ashamed of. 

The boy’s family and friends all pretended to believe him as an important and special person, but he could see right through their deceiving eyes. He knew that he was seen as insignificant to them and others. To them, he was not as valuable as they all claimed. He had no talents, and could not provide any kind of worth for them. The boy was actually seen as a burden, another mouth to feed. He wanted to change that, but he didn’t quite know-how. 

I took this desperation as an opportunity, and soon was looking through his eyes. Though I was as old as time itself, I felt like a young boy again. I took the young man’s, or rather my, hand and wrote down a few lines, and dots on a nearby sheet of paper. It was an original piece of mine, that now belonged to this boy.

I was writing this unsuspecting boy a sheet of music.

Many notes dotted the white paper, each one falling in line with the words I began to write. This "song" as I decided to call it had to be perfect. I needed words to go along with it. I wrote the perfect words for such a piece of music.

I put the words and the melodies together.

It was spectacular.

It was an elegant tune. It was the most superb ever, and yet, it was still missing something. I racked my brain, trying to bring up the missing piece. Then, it finally came to me. I needed a singer.

It was a new word back then, singer. Music was only ever performed by instruments. Voices had never sung the notes themselves. Voices were meant for directing the tune, not creating it. The idea that one could make the notes with their very own mouth was a new one. A great one. 

People came from far and wide to witness this newfound idea. The young man, my first subject, did become known. Very well known. When people asked him how he came up with this crazy idea of voices “singing” the music, he replied with, 

“I was simply pondering my life when a sudden surge of inspiration fell down upon me. I wrote down this-” he would hold up my sheet of music, “-on a nearby piece of paper. When I had it all written down, I sang it.”

The people would then ask what “sang” meant. He would answer with simply singing his masterpiece for them. The people would “Ohhh” and “Ahhh” even though his voice wasn't as prominent as the ones that would sing in years to come.

As more and more people heard of this young boy and his invention, they began to imagine themselves creating one of these “songs”. Many would try. They would attempt to create their own songs, but each and every time, the music wouldn’t sound quite right. The poetry would never match the melody in the right way. 

I was the only one. The only one who could make this song sound perfect.

That's why I later chose my second subject. A girl this time. She really wanted to find a way to express her emotions. The girl's father had died not too long ago. She had been very sad and mournful for some time and was really tired of feigning her happiness. She was yet to find a way to explain her feelings to her mother.

It was when she felt she could not hold in the oppression for a moment longer that I took her mind.

I wrote her a song full of grief and sorrow. It reflected everything she had been feeling. When I let her go she immediately showed it to her mother, who embraced her daughter claiming to have all the same feelings. 

Later the girl showed to others. The people who heard the song took it very differently than the last. Rather than “Oohing” and “Ahhing” They would sniffle and weep, for this song sounded so very different than the boys’. It made even the happiest person want to sob.


So you see, I wrote the songs, and I continued to write them. My songs ranged from quiet tunes that made people want to move about slowly, from crazy upbeat songs causing everybody to dance and rock. 

I have possessed many souls throughout the years. I guess you could say that have my own place in everybody’s soul. I am the one who gives you the impulse that leads to magnificent songwriting.

I am inspiration. 

I am music.

And I write the songs.

(Note: this is based off of the song "I Write the Songs" by Barry Manilow.)

November 01, 2019 17:00

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Unknown User
15:23 Dec 19, 2019

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Cam Croz
16:18 Dec 19, 2019



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