Story Time: Untitled (Work-In-Progress)

I’ve been working on some stories for fun because if you can’t say it then write, this is the first part of the story.

There she stands; immortalised. At the centre of our impossible universe, stands such beauty and prose. One with form beyond comprehension and spiritual belief, many would say she was, in turn, an entity above. God on Earth. And there was I, swallowed by the pumped leather chair and clamped by the effects of untainted alcohol and bad decisions.

The star in the sky sunk into the cold ground as the informal gathering proceeded into the night. The terraced house that belonged to owner A was transformed into a forum, a nightclub and a church – all working together to satisfy all. Many guests, like me, have stumbled into this place by the electro-wildfire that is more popularly recognised as the Internet. And thank above for this night, for my mind turns, tumbles into disparity, into death, one second, counting down, till the clock hits zero and all will be done – I will be the food for my children. Yet the night persists and I have a bottle of ‘enter-here’ chilled beer. I need to move and find other focus.

For the many months before, I have expectantly created new thoughts – ones my young mind should never think, for they make me wonder beyond comprehension, into eternal nothingness as I depart this world and fertilize this earth as a ‘thank you’ card for the existing part of life. Before, I was a merry fellow with hope and aspirations to capture this life in a single frame; art. Art is a conversation from one person to another yet every time it’s different for everyone. This entices me.

I’m in the house, in the garden, in the leather chair that is bolted to the oak flooring of this ‘den’.  And she walked in…

Note: I’m trying to find a style that I like, so that’s why the pacing is weird. I’m looking at James Joyce, Chuck Palahniuk and Samuel Beckett with some Bronte in there.

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