Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Darling Little Freaks by C.R. Webb (grave mercy .TXT) 📖
- Author: C.R. Webb
Book online «Darling Little Freaks by C.R. Webb (grave mercy .TXT) 📖». Author C.R. Webb
The strangest part of mourning my family was the silence. I had performed in tragedies of men awakening in the night, crazed from relentless nightmares which no presence could cease; men demanding to know how such an atrocity could befall such gentle souls; men distraught to the brink of suicide.
Yet my world, through every ordeal, remained motionless, deafened from the roaring silence. I did not dream of the burning theater, I not dream of burning flesh; instead, my nights were emptied of any subconscious imagination. I did not wonder why my family died; I simply accepted that reality. As for suicide, I pondered it solely out of convenience, not in despair. I was, in the most paramount sense of the word,
dead.
...
Chapter 1The air smelled of yeast, vomit, and shame. I wrinkled my nose as I paid the scowling coachman for the ride from the city. As soon as the six pence was in his calloused hand, he tilted his cap in my direction and set the horse at a slow, rumbling trot.
That seems reasonable, I thought and considered sprinting after him. But I had only a farthing left in my pocket, so I decided against it. Instead, I pulled my worn coat tighter about me and turned towards the foul-smelling circus.
ImprintPublication Date: 07-13-2016
All Rights Reserved
Comments (0)