Stories

Lucy stared at the blue lines stretching across her paper, wishing that they were full of words. She could not think of a single story to write. Lucy enjoyed creating characters and worlds, mixing together names and places to make a beautiful web of words. So she had decided to write a new story today. She wanted to write a story so real that she could picture every movement. Lucy sighed, setting down her pen and looking around her room for inspiration. Tiny roses danced across the bright white walls, and sunlight from the Summer outside filled the room with light. The desk she sat at and the lamp cast the only shadows in the room. Her bed sat underneath the window, so she could watch the clouds and stars. She could hear the sound of life outside: birds, trees, and laughter. Looking around her, Lucy began to remember all of the books she had read in that room, and all of the stories that had engraved themselves into her mind. Every rose she saw seemed to remind her of something done in the room; a book read, a song sung, time spent watching clouds pass. It all seemed so real, an illusion of the past. Lucy smiled as she relaxed, reveling in all of the memories that one place could stir in her. Any story worth knowing had been known in this room. This room, her room, was a castle of life. Lucy closed her eyes and took a deep breath, full of the room's magic. Then she opened her eyes and began to write.