Cynthia Sparrowhawk's blog
*So, for the benefit for anyone who actually reads this shit, I have, once again, like we're supposed to do, written some more crap for you to digest. Why don't we get this over and done with? 1) life expects me to write this, 2) life caused me to stub my toe, 3) life is just such a bitch, and 4) what is the point of it? Surely we can get along without it?
See you all later. Goodbye for now.*
Cynthia stared at the screen at what would have been published. Life wasn't going to let up, she was going to be stuck in this world for the rest of her days.
"Great," she uttered under her breath, "how fucking marvellous?" Rolling her eyes and groaning, she slipped off her bed onto the cold, marmoleum floor and lay there thinking. Just thinking. Thinking about herself, life and her parents. As you do.
That's when she heard the knock. Well, it was more of a tap really. Cynthia raised her head.
She had no friends, no-one to call on her. So who the fuck was at the door?
YOU ARE READING
Working Progress
ActionA story about a girl whose life doesn't seem to give her any answers, and where life itself wants to control her. Needless to say she tries to rebel against it's plan for her.
