Plots Rabbits

Down the rabbit hole

It first began like a dream. Nothing to worry about. Roger used to live in an old house, the ones which were built in the 80's... Not the 1980... No, no, older than that; the 1880. And in those kind of buildings, of nearly two hundred years old; well it was kinda random to hear things such as scratching in the walls, or to get "the presence feeling" too.

To be honest, he often felt, like he wasn't alone. But it was ok. Nothing to worry. And besides, Roger had other matter to focus on. His career was has flat as a flat tire, and he was desperate to meet the well deserved success he was longing for.

He kept writing every day, writing plots and stories, writing short, and long novel, writing again and again; until his pen would run out of ink, or his fingers would aches under exhaustion. At night he would even wake up to spread down on paper, ideas that would pop up in his sleep.

But still, nothing came. The books were there, he was there; and he was convinced that his stories were worth reading. But the success didn't come. He was just invisible. Why? That was the thing he couldn't get. 

After years of ink covered paper and sleepless nights, after years of solitary confinement, spent writing down stories that would never be known to the world, after years of working hard and being ignored; he feared so much to vanish in the unknown world of the forgotten, that he did a thing he would have never imagined possible.

And that's the story I am about to tell. But be aware, brave reader. For it is a dangerous path you're taking; some never came back, from where we're going... Cause we're going down to the rabbit hole.