>Posted below is a rough draft of one of my earlier (failed?) attempts at fiction-writing.
For all those who are reading it, please note and keep in mind that this is fiction. Period.
She hates him.
His very presence.
The way he stares at her.
Each day. Each minute. Each second.
As if to force him upon her. To remind her every second of his undeniable presence. She wishes to do the same.
But she can’t. And she doesn’t want to figure out why.
She says she has better things to do. She busies herself. She gets lost in her work. She drowns herself in complete nonsense. But she can’t let go off the image.
His image. His eyes. His piercing stare that penetrates right into her body. Her soul. Her corrupt soul.
She tries to hate him. Day in. Day out. She cannot admit that she has failed. She doesn’t even know if she wants to.
But she’s trying. Trying hard. To hate him. To avoid him. To not look at him. To not think about him. To ignore him. Did it not seem easy once?
She is still trying…
To be continued. . .