Dear reader,
I understand that this tale may come with some unfortunate truths, even some unwelcome thoughts, however let it not surprise you; for life often makes a habit of catching us unaware. If your intention was to peruse a cheery fable about singing birds and giggling children, then I suggest you read no further. This story is vastly melancholic, vaguely apocalyptic (in a broad sense of the word), and does not end with Prince Charming rescuing his damsel. Please believe I do not wish for it to be this way, but it is my job to document the events that follow.
When your world ends, I guarantee the end will not begin like a film. The day will start normally; you will wake, crawl out of bed, wishing for more moments of sleep than what you were able to steal. Your first coffee, completely black, will taste awfully good, but as you move to your third, you'll have to sweeten it with sugar and milk as you slowly rise from a state which could only be presumed as clinically dead. There will be no screaming in the streets, no alien invasion, no nuclear war raging outside. The day will appear unremarkable, just as Caspian Holt's had. His day didn't start with a bang, with a shot fired. It didn't start like a typical tale of fate and destiny, where the hero would wake from a blissful slumber, only to find that the world was slowly deteriorating around them. The day started like any, ordinary day; Caspian woke, made himself a cup of coffee — or three — then went to his lecture. The day didn't start with screaming; even though he could have sworn it had once the day had ended.
YOU ARE READING
The Problem With Saskia
Short Story"Loving Saskia was like dancing around a sleeping lion; the thrill was intoxicating, yet the consequences were deadly." **COMING SOON**
