CNF- Creation Story

 (My family's history is nothing special, so I wrote about something a bit different.)

When the child was born, everything was pretty much the same as always. A normal birth, nothing out of the ordinary. The parents were fairly normal themselves, as well, making the whole scene rather dull to begin with. For years, it would stay that way. As the boy grew up with his older sister, nothing spectacular would happen. Not until he got bored.
Up until then, he had been relatively simple for a small child. Joking around on a playground and laughing with his friends, and never really throwing fits or causing any sort of drama. He stuck like that until a friend of his wrote a story for his teacher. The boy decided to write one of his own, and set to work with his dusty paper and snapped pencil. As different ideas inspired by Harry Potter by JK Rowling and Eddie Dickens by Philip Ardagh popped into his head, he mixed them all up into one short piece of "writing." Were he to read it several years later, he would find it a complete mess. Still, his second-grader mind was intrigued by the concept of creation simply because he didn't understand it yet.
For a while he became lazy again, doing nothing of any use as children do. But in the back of his mind, characters from far away lands communicated with him. For two years, his ideas bit and scratched at his hardly-used brain, until he gave in around the beginning of the fifth grade. He sunk away from his peers, hiding in books and writing his own endings. He knew he wasn't very good at it, and that was all that kept him going. Reading The Hobbit made him feel inferior, as he should feel; his mind couldn't even conceive of the power in the words of JRR Tolkien.
Eventually, his words would fail him constantly, and he would give up for a week or two. Then he would begin again, the flame rekindled in his pen to create. To create a world for himself; a better world. And then he would fail again. And again. Again. Again.
He found that his selfish goals had led his thoughts away from his family and friends, those who allowed him to succeed in the first place. He went looking for help, but never found any. He checked in his heart, his mind, his soul. Nothing. But he checked in his pen, and hope flowed onto his crumpled notepad as he tried and tried again.
He still walks this vicious circle like a plot-line from beginning to end to beginning. It never would have happened without that simple, dull moment of his birth. Something so cliche to inspire something so convoluted doesn't make sense to him, nor to anyone else. But who really needs sense when you have whole legions to back you up from the confines of your papers? Creations as big as entire galaxies can rest on a single flash drive; and likewise, this plain, boring child turned out to be much more on the inside.
And he'll likely never get rid of it.