How Stories Are Born.

She is sitting alone in her room, sitting at her desk thinking.

Oh what could she be thinking?

She puts the pen to the paper and starts to write.

Some people when they look at her think that she’s alone, but she isn’t, not really.

As the ink begins to flow from the pen she starts her magick.

The words she’s been writing turn into pictures of people and other different things.

As she writes, the world that she was born into begins to shrink, and a new world is being born around her.

She tells of a better place then the one she is from.

Tales of knights and dragons, and wizards and witches.

She does this to get away.

Away from the pain and the suffering.

In the worlds she creates there is always a happy ending.

Because, she knows,

that there is no such thing as a happy ending in the “Real” world.

As she finishes she starts to notice her writing hand is numb, but she doesn’t care,

Just as long as it gets finished.

Towards the end she begins to dread coming out of her secret place and meeting the harsh light which is outside her door.

But she knows, she must finish.

She is done and as she puts her pen aside she quickly reads what she got done with,

Knowing full well that no one else may read it as long as she still walks and breathes in this world,

But then again she isn’t doing it for “them”.

She’s doing it for herself.

Happy with what she did she gets up and stretches, closes her little book and locks it away.

As she heads toward the door leading out of her room she smiles to herself, she is glad to be able to put her thoughts into such beautiful words.

The main thing is though,

She is ready to face the world again.

End

KMB

Note;

This was done when I was very, VERY young so please be kind.
I believe it was the first "short story" I ever did.
I might have been in my younger preteens and I was trying to explain how my stories came to me...I think.
I vaguely remember writing this...
Whatever, I left it just how I found it. :3

Enjoy.