The once blank pages were now covered with words, words that had poured out of me and onto paper from my innermost being. It was amazing how my brain hadn't even processed a single word, yet it all came out neat and precise as if I'd been rehearsing the story for years now. It was my story after all; I would know it best. It had started with just a whim, but my story was now scripted onto paper. My story, my life, and I would start from the beginning.
The beginning was the best. It was the easiest. Times have changed grandly. I curved the letters in cursive for the title...
I would save the title for last. The title was the best part; why spoil it until the very end?
This is my story. I'm told I'm not very good at speaking, but will you listen?
