Unknown and Invisible (Story)

Prologue

* Since all I have on here is poems (meh) I decided to put up a story for a change. I'm a bit nervous because I dunno if it's okay or not and I'm slightly concerned about copyright.

Anyway: It's called "Unknown and Invisible" and it's a story set in the 20th century I think-ish. It's fiction about a young man called "Cornelius" and his life basically (in first person). If anyone's interested then I'll continue and put up chapter 1 x

Prologue:

"My Dearest Amelie,"

I wrote;

"I am well - very well in fact. I wish to thank you for writing to me as I have missed you for the past two months. I have just set out; my hopes are set on that I will return. It is my greatest desire at the moment-returning; maybe it is so that I can get back and see my dear mother and father, perhaps it is that my sister has been married and I have not seen her since, or possibly so I can start off on my next journey again.

I dare say Amelie that it is not one of those things; it is because my world is spinning around in this whirl pool of thoughts; of which are all of you. Everyday I awake, I dream of seeing you again, and the smile that will break through my lips when I do - like the sea which crashes against the side of this boat I am now sitting on as I write. Apologetic as I am, my jogged scribbles are no where close to what I would have preferred this letter to have looked like when you read it.

Unfortunately it does not look as if I will be returning any time soon, which brings me to my misery of going less than of a few weeks of seeing you walk down the hallway every morning; lighting up the dark atmosphere as you go. Your step, quick and graceful as the sun rays cast the shadow of your beautiful silhouette, all along the shiny, wooden floor, which as shiny and spotless as it is, looks nothing more than an old ash field, next to you.

As much as it saddens me so to think of your gorgeousness, and to have nothing to compare it to, I begin to realise that there is nothing, and even if there was, it still wouldn't convince me that anything was more beautiful than you, Amelie.

I hope that you are well and that you read this and think of me, that I will hopefully soon be returning home. This does however bring me to say; as for my journey home shan't be pleasurable.

As I do not know what may lie ahead for me, my future is anything but certain as it seems.

Oh I am afraid, afraid of what I am to do, what is yet to come, afraid of what will not happen. But most importantly; afraid of if something dreadful were to happen, meaning that I would not see you again...."