I stayed up a while, in fact I was satisfied with chronic insomnia for once; I had wrote a descent amount, elaborating on notes I made in between my journalism classes at university.
" clear " was the name of the newspaper I had applied to write for, however you needed to write a full report on modern issues.
The time was impossibly late, even the radio shifted to night time static. I wrote in and embedded several stories about victims of transphobia, homophobia etc; I made multiple alterations to their names as respect.
The paper had hordes of mistakes and errors, it was almost graffiti by its untidy properties.
I was not the best writer, I had grammar poorly coincided with incorrectly spelled and misused words.
Yet the topic I was evaluating was so vivid, I knew I must admit why I chose to report about the nemesis that was the vile treatment by society of anyone who was not cisgender or heterosexual.
I was fairly open by this point, so anyone could ascertain my intentions of the subject analysis and report.
Like the time of day, my mind dawned; I had a brilliantly new idea, to convert the report into a letter and send it to a person of similar views but of different ideals; they sound the same but they have a distinction.
It was tomorrow today, 4 am and totally freezing in the homes office. Yet the rain on the windows still had warmth to condense onto the double glaze.
I had wrote 3/5 of the essay, I did believe I had conveyed my point of view on the matter correctly; it was evidenced and explained with evidence from social media platforms.
" now my story " I exclaimed as began writing personally, with each word transitioning via a space I had written tears from the closet.
I poured a glass of Crimson wine into a dirty glass, I had been drinking while creating the assignment; " 'twas illegal? " I wondered as I only poured a quarter of a glass just to remain pseudo-conscious.
The wine helped...
I typed up the three fifths of my assignment on my iPad, it was consumed in scratches.
After I uploaded the essay onto the cpu I decided to take a quick rest, which had evolved into a 12 hour somn
I had awoke to evening.
YOU ARE READING
CORRESPONDENCE
Historical FictionLIFE ON PAPER. William Janes was forever in a eternal unknowing of how his life would plan out. His heart changed so fast, and the only evidence of his true emotion was in his fresh ink, written on paper.
