There was no dark lord to defeat. This, according to Timothy, was the key problem in his life. It was a disappointing truth to have to accept at the age of 12. For as long as he could remember, he’d dreamed of valiantly riding into battle, cutting down endless soldiers and then defeating the evil dark lord in one final, awesome, duel. This way he would finally bring peace to the land and save his people from certain doom. Oh, in case you didn’t know, in these dreams Timothy was the liege to a host of hardworking, yet frightened people. The dark lord had been spreading devastation and destruction, the usual spiel, in the nearby lands. Timothy protected his people as long as he could but finally, when the dark lord set his eyes upon Timothy’s lands, the young yet capable king had to act to protect his people. So, he gathered a host of brave young men and women (Timothy wasn’t sexist, his parents were raising him better than that), and rode to battle and defeated the dark lord, and won the hearts of all those around him. His life instantly improved, as did everybody else’s. And he had countless other adventures after that, of course.
But you see, in life, there was no dark lord to defeat and this sucked. Timothy’s biggest problem at the moment was that he had to finish his biology homework, which he didn’t want to do because instead he wanted to read the latest instalment of The King Killer Chronicles. He was more than halfway through the book and the big final battle was looming. Timothy wanted to read his book and spend the rest of the evening imagining the battle. But instead he had to learn about plants. He couldn’t read his book and there was no dark lord to defeat. Life really was terrible.
Little did Timothy know it was about to get a lot worse. He was about to hit puberty.
Essays of a Misfit 