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A short prose piece, to ring the changes on day three.

A Story.

Once he had written a page full of text he would stop, he would go out and walk through the park to allow the cold into the story. If the words remained in place he felt they deserved the part they played in the life of his character. He didn’t know that rain was running into the gutters of the story and taking with it the white spaces that gave shape to the writing. To wait for summer and the drying time would not be possible so he removed words to make the story simple, the short tragic life of a beautiful girl walking in the field, waiting for her lover.

This needed less space, but the young man, her lover, was becoming a problem. Refusing to leave the narrative and fade into the spine of the book. Instead he searched for answers in the spring, appearing in more scenes, gaining accusing glances from the other characters. Needing more time to walk, when the flowers and the scent would make the memory fresh again the writer put away the words. The lover however, could always be heard, turning page after page in the darkness of the desk drawer, hoping for a miracle, but the writer didn’t believe in them and it never happened.

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