Old-times Stories

This was based off the poem Tiger Tiger by William Blake. It is about the sphinx at Giza.

(ENJOY!)

In the quaint town of London two souls, Alex and Scarlet, find their worlds entwined by fate's gentle hand. What begins as a chance encounter between neighbors soon blossoms into a love story for the ages. Join them on a heart warming journey of friendship, passion, and unbreakable bonds that span generations. As Alex gazes through his window, his curiosity is piqued by the enigmatic Scarlet next door. A budding friendship leads to an unexpected romance, and together, they navigate the complexities of life and love. But their connection goes beyond the present, as a mysterious diary unlocks a forbidden love story from the past. From the cobblestone streets of their charming town to the libraries of Paris, they embark on a quest to uncover the secrets of Mary and Austin's timeless love-a love that was forbidden by society's rules. Mary, a spirited young woman, and Austin, a courageous man, dared to defy conventions in the 16th century, facing trials and tribulations for their love. Their story becomes a captivating mirror to Alex and Scarlet's own journey. With each page turned, "Love in Second Language" weaves a tale of enduring love, captivating mysteries, and the beauty of two souls intertwined. Will Alex and Scarlet's love story stand the test of time, just like the love that inspired it? Find out in this enchanting novel that celebrates the power of love, past and present.

I wrote this a few years ago and felt that I should post it, in hopes that one day, I may see my best friends once more. I know the grammar is horrible, but I wanted to keep it the same as when I wrote it. Younger me would have wanted it to hold the same pain he felt when writing it. To friends who might be gone, but who will never be forgotten.

The year is 1099 A.D. amidst the siege of Jerusalem. Many knights fought for their brother and sister, and most importantly for the church. Catapults reigned down hellfire on the walls and civilians of the city, but catapult residue does not discriminate. After a near blow to the head, a knight mid-battle stumbles to the floor, where he is buried with rubble and dust. He then finds himself in a dark void with no remembrance of who he was, what he was doing, or why. Was this heaven, hell, or his own train of thought?