I just finished the first draft of an assignment and I was wondering if anybody would like to edit it please.
The prompt was: Go to a graveyard and pick out a gravestone to relate to. You must then write a fictional story of that persons life. This should be no longer then a page and can be written either in prose or poetry.
There it is \/ Thank you ahead of time .


Henry W. Arnold
Died January 8, 1935 at the age of 43

Here I lay on this cold night in January, under this tree in this strange place. I try to bundle the remains of my jacket to hold the heat, but it is of no use. The snow is wicked and just steals it all away. I have been on this journey for many years, and I do not know how much longer I can take it. You would not believe it but I, the scruffy one you look upon with his rags and brown burnt skin, am the son of a successful merchant. I was to go to school to become a doctor or a lawyer, but you can tell that has gone array.
It is not that I didn’t want to go to university. It is just that the education was interfering with my learning. My mind could not settle to one discipline, it wanted to know everything. I had wanted to do anything and everything. Great ideas would run through my mind; Henry the doctor; Henry the chef; Senator Henry; Henry the logger. As you can see, my mind would fret from the uncertainty and the belief that there was not enough time in the world to complete everything I had wanted to complete. So I decided to take the logical step: Leave.
Some may have called me a hobo, but I – I looked at myself as the ultimate scholar. How many of you can say you cleared the forests of Maine? How many of you can say you raised cattle in Montana? How many of you have made the sweet wine of California grapes? I have done these all as well as hundreds of other professions. I am Huckleberry Finn, having rafted down the mighty Mississippi. I have walked the sandy desert of New Mexico and dined on their rattle snakes. I have lived the lives of a hundred men.
But here I lay in the snow of Connecticut with my new friend veiled in black. We sit here in the dark sharing a pipe discussing my adventures and I am growing fairly tired. I find it harder and harder to stay awake, while my companion urges me to take a rest. I finally give in and decide to nod off, and I feel a small warmth go through my body knowing I have proved them wrong.
I am a success.