She would have never become a writer if she knew how difficult it was! Her Potter-like glasses slipping off her face, tousled curls framing her face. Frustration showed through countless pieces of paper thrown around the room. All the harried writer heard was swords clashing, inhuman screams, and the piercing sound of shouts for help. The beat of the drummer boy was heard throughout this battle of the mind keeping our writer in line. With words flowing and thoughts creating chaos. She wrote endlessly, on an old blue typewriter. Her stories unknown, never read. These stories were only made, never to be read. Just the writer would know of the bright and beautiful words she has created. Each world different than the last. One story of a battle lasting hundreds of years. Another one of a bard weaving tells on the spot for the children watching. There was never a dull moment within her worlds.
YOU ARE READING
Unknown Words
General FictionA story I wrote for a Short Story class. Critics are welcomed as long as it is not flames. It's about a harried writer
