The obsession of writingHer favourite moment of the day was the evening, when she could devote herself to her secret need. A burning sensation in the palm of her hand, she closed door and curtains, hurried in her dining room and sat on her chair. On the tiny desk in front of her, there was just a ream of paper, a pile of carbon ribbons and her typing machine. Once she was there, she closed her eyes and smelt the faint perfume of oil and ink. Then, ignoring the loud voices of her neighbours, arguing behind the thin wall, she started to write.Once her fingers had landed on the keyboard, she became a new world, full of mysteries and dangers. Eternal hills of words rose up, as alliteration gulfs were covered by a savage myst. Under the rain of sentences, blasted princes and corrupted heroes walked alongside until the end of the word, singing the end of their age. And in the battle of paragraphs, chimeraes struggled for their lives, as the people of abysses met their doom. Then, sustained by the blood of ten thou
The ReaperThe Reaper~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~Forget what you think you might have known.Because those thoughts I cannot condone.What I am and what I'm not.Life and Death my every thought.For those who live.This is the gift I give.Cut your strings and make you lifeless.The look on your face will be quite timeless.Just sit back and enjoy the ride.For the world has yet to know that you've died.Because, you see, the clocks of death have no numbers.Where time goes one often wonders.And now it seems I must be on my way.For yet again it is time to slay.But young child do not fret and fight.For death has come upon you quickly this night.