Prisoner of Love

Prologue (April 11th 1861)

I was sitting in my room in the White House, contemplating Texas. I was wearing one of my dad's, Abraham Lincoln's, hats. I looked out my window, longing for love and adventure, but knew it was nowhere near. My dad ran into my room, "The South is KER-AZY gurl." He started to frolic around my room and sang an Irish jig about the crazy south. My heart started to beat wildly out of my chest, the Irish essence of the music seemed to excite me, but I didn't know anybody Irish.

"Well that's all folks!" My dad said as he did the samba out of my room.

I cried for fifteen minutes and thirty three seconds. Why could I never find love? My dad's Latin hips reminded me that I would be eternally alone.

I closed my eyes and grabbed my journal made out of gorilla skin and a feather quill, plucked from the caboose of a turkey. I dipped it gracefully into the black well of darkness, as black as my lonely soul. I let the quill glide around the paper, I cleared my mind, wishing with my whole existence for a sign that the paper and quill would bring me. I opened my eyes as I drew the last flick of the quill. The paper read one word, and one word only: "Paul".

I heard the sound of a cannon go off, at first I shook it off, since my dad has a rare and deadly flatulence disease. But usually his puffs of gas aren't that powerful. I gazed out my window, seeing a cannonball race past my window. "I DECLARE WAR" a soldier from the south yelled and beat his fists on his chest much like an orangutan. He started pooping in his hands and flinging it at the Union soldiers surrounding him. My eyes landed on an especially spicy member of the Confederacy. Something struck so hard in the chest I knew who it was. I heard the whispers of his majestic name float across my brain membrane like a thousand baby cherubs planting carnivorous plants into a cornfield. It was him... PAUL.

To be continued.