I don't want to go into that room.
I don't know what to say.
I'm eighteen, on the brink of life.
And death has always been a distant thing.
Sudden, Accidents. Stark.
Not like this in inches creeping along his frame.
Edema. Harsh and violent paun.
How can I treat him.
Other patients get well. Go home.
He's dying and i feel as if death is contagious.
I'm afraid to laugh with joy and life.
I should be quiet.
Death is a silent shadow slowly growing in his room.
I can't ignore his call.
I must cross the threshold.
Answer the ringing bell.
He lies in bed.
The sheets pulled to his chin.
Skeletal face. Compassion eyes.
What's wrong, my child.
Don't be afraid.
Don't treat em like a thing.
I'm real. I'm still alive.
Just because I'm dying doesn't mean you can't smile.
Just one to show me you care.
Death is real and part of life.
So through my tears, I smile
And learn to live with death.
Meander 2 - Rereading Books. Reading books I've read before is like meeting old friends and learning new things. New little things I didn't notice before. Reading books again helps me when I'm writing. Gives me a break from what I'm striving to put on paper. Triggering an emotion I need to portray in my own work. So every once in a while, I pick an author I've read and read them again.
Meander 3 - Writing _ I'm close to getting the last draft of The Children of Fyre begun and then it's time to finish and go through the manuscript to make sure all of the i's are dotted and the t's crossed, the words are spelled right and the grammar is correct. Then I'll send it off to an editor and start something new,