I keep writing. Everything in my skull keeps pouring out into anything I can get my hands on.
Benefit of being mildly depressed, but not having the balls to jump off the deep end? Twisted dreams become your own and insane novel concepts clutter your daily thoughts. Without fail I’ve conjured up a most disturbing prologue to a book I may never write, based upon two characters known as 28 and 31. It reads like a song but it feels like a place I could belong to. Eerily it begins rather dark, as does a lot of my writing.
My soul must be in mourning. It rivals a starving animal I haven’t fed for months.
If it had been seconds, we were lost for years. If words had measured our time, we were absent for novels. Eons of literature splashed upon pages that had engulfed us two.
The fate that was ours was a magical fire. Within this we were washed of every essence of our innocence, sentenced to burn eternal.
We, 31 and I, began our journey in a time when no souls knew of an infinite existence. How beautiful the memories are that we held, no senses of the body were void of purpose. It was foolish of our young souls to be so careless, our grasp on life everlasting was hardly a twinkle in any eye.
Had we not faced the greatest war of our kind, we may have not discovered our safe haven. My name is 28, forever bound to the world’s greatest, 31. Together it has been an exhausting existence, but our stories weren’t meant to fall upon deaf ears. These are unbreakable moments in time that were meant to be heard in time eternal.
It’s honestly just an introduction..I don’t know if I have the attention span for a novel? But since this is a blog that isn’t succumbed to the masses, It’s my own personal decision to continue the story of 28 and 31. My tendency with writing, is to always fall off track and lose focus, so from this point today (I will try) to write a little of my Post-Apocalyptic Post-Mortem Love Story.