Introduction Of Sorts

Hey, so this is my blog. Hi.

Today... today was a bore. First day back, brains dead. Plenty of laughing, a little learning, and one big email.

I emailed my story to my English teacher. He sent back, being formal and weird, making me think "cool" wasn't the best word to write. Oh well. If I die tomorrow, once again, my books go to Cam, money equal between all friends, and room/posessions.. friends and family. Like I have anything of importance.

Anyways, I'm pretty proud of my editing job of what I could without dying of boredom - namely, the first few pages. I'll upload a short little bit on here for you to see.


Empyrean - Page 1

Fire. All around me, fire surrounded my body. Angry flames licked the small space that had yet to burn to cinders. That small, uncharred space was the one I was crouched on, watching the flames crawl closer and the heat burn higher. I even at six, I knew I was there until my death. There was no way I could get out, no way to survive. I was unable to stand because of the smoke, I was unable to scream, my voice had given out ages ago, I was unable to move, frozen solid in fear while the burning heat froze me in a different way.

All I could do was wait. Wait for death, wait for a savoir that wasn’t coming.

I felt the heat sinking through my top of shoes and the plastic on them began to melt. It dripped onto the floor like an ice cream cone in the sun, but far less delicious.

This wasn’t delicious at all. My mouth was dry and tasted of smoke and ash, and the air around me was so thick with the fumes from the fire. I could hardly breathe. The heat around me was sickening, but watching the rubber melt off my shoes, the pain of the heat still tolerable, I should have known something was up.

But then, at that moment, my mind was calm and clear, taking in things as they happened, when they happened calmly and sanely. I didn’t look for ways out, I didn’t question the things happening; I stood, eyes wide open taking in everything, calm and sensible. All I could imagine what the outside of the building looked like - most likely a lot like all those other, awful, grey, smoke fires. We passed them by sometimes on the way to school, still smoldering from the life-taking ‘accident’ that had been caused the night before.


Good? Not? You're already dead, my writing's killed you? I don't think anyone one is there to answer, so I won't really expect an answer.