Hunched over her keyboard while the night closed outside the window of her attic flat, she hammered the keys to kill the deafening silence around her. It was a noise that brought her company, like a trusted friend that distracts from a relentless life. Page after page of rambling words, spreading on the screen like climbing poison ivy, incoherent but at least giving alibi of an existence. The moon though, would not be fooled; it found its way through her closed curtains, like a carefully placed interrogation light, demanding to know “what have you done with the life given you?”
12 Comments
8/6/2015 07:25:05 am
Love this. How often do writers sit and produce looking for those very answers. Well done!
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Veronika Borzymowski
8/6/2015 02:17:13 pm
Hi Yolanda, thanks for this, most kind! all the best v
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Veronika Borzymowski
8/6/2015 02:17:58 pm
thanks ! v
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Veronika
8/9/2015 10:29:14 pm
What a lovely comment, thanks Shandra!! wishing a lovely day v
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Veronika
8/9/2015 10:30:11 pm
Thanks for this Lorna, never thought of it as a detective novel but I can see it now, all the best v
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Adam
8/9/2015 09:57:19 pm
I can imagine many writers having this kind of moment… you describe it well.
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Veronika
8/9/2015 10:30:40 pm
many thanks Adam, wishing a lovely day ! v
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Veronika
8/10/2015 01:44:08 pm
Dear BobiJo, your comment made my day . . thanks for this
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