Is This Any Good?

Dear KeePers,

Two days ago, I was inspired to write a short story that at the time seemed like a brilliant idea. I wanted to write the diary of a character from a novel who struggles with his identity and the problem of evil.

The problem was, as I wrote the first entry last night, I felt like what was coming out was practically worthless. Having just read it again, I’m convinced that’s not so, but I’m still wondering if this is a story I should keep writing or not. Could you give me your opinion?

December 2nd, 2016

Today I became alive.
It startled me, I admit and I almost dropped the Christmas lights. The moment before I hadn’t been alive and now here I was stringing bright lights across the roof of a wealthy middle-class American home, standing on top of a ladder and watching my warm breath turn into a cloud in the winter air.
What I was doing here. Until this moment my life had been an everlasting curtain of darkness stretched from the indefinite to the eternal. On most days, I wasn’t even aware of myself, just sleeping an endless, feelingless, ignorant sleep. Times would come when I would sense a higher consciousness bringing me to life, giving me features and thoughts and aspirations—oh, the aspirations! When I had aspirations, I almost thought I was a human. But then the conscious would leave me, and my short life would flicker and go out. Sleep would return to me.
Of course, I had heard the stories—everyone had. Tales that the author was planning a new contemporary fiction novel, but who could have guessed that I out of all the millions of possible characters would have been picked?
I had been smiling a moment before. At least, that’s the way my facial muscles felt. I couldn’t know for sure since I had only just started existing, but I felt like it would be a good idea to continue smiling. I hoped it wasn’t too out of character for me to lower the string of christmas lights and peek around the world surrounding me.
A pure white sheet of snow blanketed the lawns of a magical neighborhood. Houses were freshly painted and decorative lampposts cast a silvery glitter across the fields of white and a warm glow came from their boxes that made the cold seem far less severe.
Then I noticed him. He was the type of man to attract attention. His smile was the type that one sees on unconquerable youths who are partially naive and partially wise. His well groomed of blond was manly and beautiful at the same time and the every move of his body spoke of a vibrant athleticism and vitality. The details of his clothing were many, indicating that the author had paid him special attention in his creation. He had a thick, fashionable, black coat with two rows of buttons and a green and scarlet checkered scarf wrapped around his neck and shoulders in perfect style. The man called out to me in a merry voice as he scooped the last shovel of snow from his driveway. “It’s a magical day, isn’t it?”
“Y-yes!” I replied, not sure what I was saying as I still processed the fact that I was alive.
My neighbor laughed good heartedly and bid me goodnight. I bid him the same, but now I was beginning to feel a bit chill. My neighbor was awakening memories in me of things I had heard of long ago in my brief periods of consciousness. He wasn’t a…hero, was he? A stray snowflake fell on my left eyelash. I studied its intricacies, then I blew it off, turning my attention back to my neighbor as he walked back toward his house.
For some reason, my body felt soupy then as if it were turning into a dream and then I felt the familiar darkness began to close over my eyes and I gasped.
He was the hero! And that meant that my existence only lasted while he was looking at me. As my life faded out, I took one parting glance at the hero, knowing it might be the last thing I ever saw.
What was I again? Oh, yes. The hero’s neighbor. After all these years in darkness, I was finally a character, but what did that mean? Who was? I began to dream of the day I would be given a name.