I want to have the book fully written (not edited, just written) by the end of November, at the very latest. The title of the book is 2203.
He meant no harm when he requested I take a seat, he simply hoped I'd return to the familiar cobbled streets.
Flipping each sheet one by one, he noticed a sparkle from the page he had been working on, which now appeared to be gilded on the edge as well. His eyes widened as he revealed the page, which appeared to be covered in oil-slick except for an outline where his hand and pen had been, which was now a silhouette of plain, off-white paper with a dot of smudged black where the ink had dripped. It bled into the slick and swirled into a mesmerizing, spiraling pattern. He dabbed the page with the paper towel he had been using to clean off his pen to see if the page was wet, but even after smearing and rubbing for a few seconds, the page seemed to be dry as a piece of plain paper could be.
"No, I'm sorry sir. That simply won't do!" Rutherford always made a fuss when getting fitted for a suit, "The cummerbund is too tight and doesn't match my ascot! It isn't passable in the slightest! The banquet is tomorrow, and I can assure you that Lady Astonia shan't pardon me, therefore I shan't pardon you!... Continue Reading →
I loved flying kites when I was little... The way they bobbed and swayed upon invisible, tumultuous waves. The way they could be seen by friends, near and far, both close friends and formerly unknown folks, and silently call a gathering that would add to the fleet of flying vessels across the town. My mother... Continue Reading →
It was an absolutely spectacular day to be six years old. The sun was shining, a few fluffy clouds spotted the bright blue sky to give it a bit of texture, and there was a breeze that was just cool enough to raise the goosebumps on my arms. It was the kind of day that required a... Continue Reading →
"She loves me... she loves me not... she loves me... she loves me not... uh oh..." and then I picked another daisy from the garden and continue, "She loves me... she loves me not... she loves me... she loves me not... SHE LOVES ME!" With the biggest grin a five-year-old is capable of, I held onto that... Continue Reading →
I swear I'm not a romantic simply because it feels good. In fact, it has hurt me more than it has helped. But I refuse to let go of it. Mayhaps it's my youthful heart. Mayhaps it's immaturity. But today, the hurt is so real, and so worth it. Love is not a word to... Continue Reading →
Dear Bob, I'm so so sorry. It's been about a year since we last spoke, and though for close friends that's no time at all, it's a lifetime between you and me. And I still don't know what to say to you. Part of me wants to tell you how pissed I am at you.... Continue Reading →