My Story Begins
HOW FITTING TO BLEED HERE
TO COME HERE IN DRUNKEN STUPOR
ONLY THE FINEST OF INK TO
NARRATE THIS PATHETIC STORY
So this is my story? Fine then. It starts here.
A young man sits cross-legged with elbows on his knees, hunched over a tiny lined book he holds against his flannel pillow with three splayed fingers, the remaining two curled under to hold the lid of his pen as dark red words slowly fill the page. He is mid-twenties, with a trimmed beard and short dark hair. Heavy eyebrows rest expressively above his thick rimmed glasses. By the way he leans toward his writing, it is easy to assume his eyesight is weak.
Wearing only boxers and a loose t-shirt, he occupies a cot in the corner of a wood paneled room, small, but a comfortable size for a single occupant. It's a mess. From the bedside lamp's illumination, piles of bedding, stacks of boxes and other haphazardly placed belongings visibly fill the space. That's why he has his back to it, so he can focus.
Tomorrow is kind of an important day.
Comments (3 so far!)
This is exactly what it looks like. I've decided to find the narrative of my own story. For those wondering about the four opening lines, you'll meet that character again soon enough.
- #2767 Posted 2 years ago
Well this is intriguing and encouraging in reference to past entries. This is good. Write on young man, write on
- #2777 Posted 2 years ago
Take the narrative, grasp it with hands if you can and follow it--second star until morning. Good luck and godspeed!
- #2790 Posted 2 years ago
- Published 2 years ago and featured 2 years ago.
- Story viewed 10 times and rated 0 times.
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