write what you know - or not

[higginbottom]

Today, Esther is seated in the Plaza, as centrally located as she can possibly get. She's got a desk in front of her with a typewriter on it (don't ask where she found that), and she's got an expectant sort of smile on her face.

She's been feeling better lately, and so she figured she'd do some work of sorts. That's why there's a handwritten sign at the edge of her desk that simply asks:

What's your story?

and in smaller print, adds:

Recent English major will write your story/poem/memoir/etc out via typewriter for a small fee of your choosing. Very skilled with imagery and metaphor.

Any takers?

Comments

[higginbottom]

"Hmm, the omniscient narrator might be a good idea, agreed," Esther says, nodding. "It's a beautiful story so far. Very compelling!"

She continues to type.

"I can always go back and retype and revise later. It's good to just get the first draft done, though."

[sohoangel]

Aziraphale smiles bashfully at the compliment. "Oh... thank you... and, really, you should write it however you see fit. You're the writer, after all."

...he says as he keeps peering at her typewriter. Although he is trying his hardest not to be a backseat writer. He's simply nervous at letting his and Crowley's story out into the world, but it feels good -- almost cathartic -- to share it.

"Let's see, ah... well, by the late 1800s, they had grown very close. The angel had opened a bookshop, and the demon visited him often. They spent a lot of time together, and one day..." He swallows, finding it harder to share this part. "One day, at a nearby park, the demon asked the angel for some holy water. As insurance, he said, in case his side found out about us and came after him.

"Well, the angel... didn't take it very well. At first he thought the demon was treating it like a suicide pill, and then he thought, perhaps, that he was being used a little, as the demon didn't care much for other demons to begin with."

Aziraphale sighs and clasps his hands together. "But the truth is... the angel was afraid. He was afraid of the demon accidentally destroying himself, but he was also afraid of those huge feelings that the thought stirred up within him. He exchanged some harsh words with the demon and then stormed off. They didn't speak for... well, it wasn't very long in the grand scheme of things, but it felt like forever to the angel. It took a war for them to truly reconcile and for the angel to finally realize that he loved the demon, at least platonically speaking."