Copyright © 2019 by feynuances
All rights reserved. This book, or any portion thereof, may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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Thank you for choosing my humble abode to rest your feet in. I sincerely hope that you'll be warm, comfortable, and have fun whilst you stay, and will part my threshold in only the best of humour. And if that be not the case, then for it, I, remorsefully, apologise.
Wishing you the best of health, and only the fuzzy, genteel good forces. Do take care.
Tipping my hat off with a little something : in yourself, you may eat away your magic to nothingness; and in yourself only, you may bundle up the self loathing, and the self pity, before proceeding to set flames on these parasites, gaining a skin anew in the wakeful light that they'll leave behind, and simply work against these forces - to work, is to know of your worth. Your worth is dying inside of you, crying at you to dig it out of the layers of all the 'woe is me' you've buried it under - to once, for mere once, save its life, mend its pulse, and patch its scratches with a few stripes of love-aid, and it'll show you the warrior's crown that you're the heir to, rather than wasting an emotion so precious on self destruction, on your toxic relationship with the bullying voices inside your head. Hold your will, and forge your way to the unthinkable; in a world so intent on dying, be a life. Work, whatever it is, with or without sense, simply keep on working - for the flight of meaning will only spring from the trying wings, and not a broken record.
Yours,
fey
YOU ARE READING
Forgotten Roads
Short StoryTime has a way of charming things into charging on with its biddings. What goes on in the mind of people with whom we might have spent our whole school life without once talking to? Do we ever get to know how they would have really thought of us whe...
