Oh, you've decided to keep reading, How wonderfull, this makes happy on the outcome of this writing and story, I remmeber when Elisabeth opened this book for the first time. You know what they say about readers "They lived many lifes" What not everyone says is how many souls did they kill on closing the books.
Im sorry, im rumbling right about this moment. Tell me, how do you think my voice sounds like when you devore my words. Do you picture me as an elder lady? Maybe im in a wheelchair sitting in the break room of my local senior home, although i dont fully recall the name of the senior home or the name of my town... i do know that the pretty new nurse said she would get me green tea for my throat... i think. Do you actually think of me like that?Maybe, im just the child of the story, or a little girl. Im actually not a writer at all, i dont know what i am, really, i know what the world around me is because everyone tells me and fiercly destroys any possibility of me fidding it out. I know what i must sound like, the girl who thinks she writes but what possible thing would she have to write about? how could she conpell a reader to read till the middle of the second page? Do you think that who i am? Perhaps you may see the voice of a man, oh how lovely i soud now, dont I? I feel like im wearing this confortable black sweater, enouncing some adjectives, sitting by the fire on my big chair just writing my words as my daughter gets some tea for my throat.
I think I like this scenerio, Im the man, with the powerful british voice sipping away my tea as you sit down on your computer and read my words or even read them on a paper, who knows. Reading books is so confusing, you dont know what im doing, what im reading what my voice sounds like or where im writing from, and i dont know where you are reading it from or what youre voice sounds like, what we have between us is just my words to communicate and connect. But dont you worry I know what you are thinking, i know who you are. I may not know your hair color, the color of your eyes or which foot you start the day when you leave the house every morning. But I know you. And I know you, and only you, better than anyone else will understand and devour this words and this book.
This is the story of a woman.
Of a child.
Of and unbelievebel human being
and the narrator.
this is my words. and this is my soul. and this is the life, that you live and kill.
