I have the feeling this one is going to be even harder than the foreword you read before starting this story.
If you skipped past it then, eager to read the prologue, I recommend you go back there, and read it. Perhaps it's even better, so you'll feel like I felt when I wrote it.
I can't even start to describe what writing this has meant to me. No words would ever be able to hold as much meaning nor as many feelings as I have inside me at the moment.
So this is finished, eh? I can't believe it either. Of all the ideas for books I ever had and started, I never, and I truly mean ever, thought this was the one I would finish first. Yep, I'm a firm believer in my consistency as you can see.
Maybe it's because this was the first short story I ever tried to write, more reasonable than the intricate stories I usually plan. It also definitely helped that Elizabeth is someone you can relate to. She struggles, she's real, and not because of her dreams is she less of a strong character.
P.S: half way through writing this, I saw a guy actually come out of the house beside mine that inspired this story. It was hilarious.
Love,
M.
YOU ARE READING
a Piece of Art
Short StoryI was twelve years old the first time I saw Parker Wells. I was fighting with my earring to put it in its place in my ear in front of my mirror; a look of sadness possessed my features, thinking about every thing that was wrong with my face and the...
