Day Two.

***
“Frankly,” he mumbled, “I don’t know where to begin”. His chest heaved, and his thin frame shuttered. How do you explain everything? How can you go back?

“Start with ‘once upon a time’,” she whispered, feeling him watch her. His dark eyes explored every curve of her body. Disgust traveled the length of her spine, and she struggled not to run away. He sighed, stretching his arms over his head.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not that type of person,” he stopped, feeling a flicker of anger come across him, “And to be fair, you knew what you where walking into. You knew”.
****

Day One.

When I was eight years old, I would write short stories on my parent's old typewriter. I don't have the faintest recollection of the content, or writing style. I just remember writing for hours, it was during that time I knew I was going to be a writer.

Math and science seemed menial in the universe of writing, and I adopted those ideas into school. This way of thinking continued in college, and I got straight below average grades. But when I came down to it, I couldn't wrap my head around the way letters could even function as numbers. To me those beautiful letters didn't belong in a math book. It felt like the letters were cheating on the great works they'd once previously resided.

Six months from now, I will graduate with a B.A. in Creative Writing, and I still have trouble from overdrawing on my bank account.