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The Last Words.

The Last Words.

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WpMetadataReadOngoing7m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sat, Jan 5, 2013
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Fiction
Romance
Megan Cobalt was a writer, she reminded herself, and I, Megan Cobalt needed to finish my first trilogy series this winter, if it killed me. She had sent herself packing, the city always killed her writing flow and she needed a cold, hollow setting for the last desperate words. She chose Ireland, splendid little Ireland. She rented a lodge in the middle of nowhereville and loved it. It was quaint and sweet, but like her characters it had a dark and lonely centre and that's why she chose it. Not for the warm log fireplace, nor the sweet smell of vanilla and Amber, and definitely not for the exquisitely perfect cherry tree just outside the wooden door of her homely home. She chose it for the worn down rug, for the cobwebs in every corner and the dusty Tiffany lamp by her wooden framed bed. Perfectly abandoned. Just like her.
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Most impressive rank: 1 - Fairytale *** Casey is all alone in the werewolf world, the only family she has left is her crazy dad. her mum died of cancer, causing her dad to go crazy and start beating Casey. What's worse is that she can't get away from the violence because when she goes to school they do the same. *** I close my eyes so I could listen and smell everything in case this was the last time I would ever be in this beautiful forest. I chase away any bad or worried thoughts because this place seemed so sacred it did not allow them. I breath in and catch the sweet scent of lavender flowers that speckled the ground in little clumps and the dry smell of dirt that hadn't been rained on in a couple of day. I listen to the steady titters of birds as they fly from tree to tree, collecting little twigs and leaves to build their nests with. I listen to the buzz of the bees greedily feasting on the flowers that scattered around the dry forest floor. I open my eyes to take in the scenery, rays of sunlight filter through the green canopy, penetrating through the leaves and casting a green-yellow effulgence over the ground that wavers as the trees rustle in the light whispers of wind. The crunching of dry leaves under my feet alert me so I cast my eyes to the floor and watch as I step on each individual leaf and dry twig, enjoying the snapping sounds that echo through the near silent forest. Gnarly roots dip into ground and twisted branches reach down, fingers grasping the air, as if reaching for me and I shiver, thinking of my father. I cast my eyes up to think of something else and instantly calm as another puff of breeze rustles the leaves on the trees and ground gently. I look ahead and notice the steady thinning of the old trees and run towards it, loving the feeling of the air in my air and clothes. I spot what I think is light dancing on waters surface and sprint for it. Then I break through the trees, making it to the lake.

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