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. To Draw Hours by William Gatewood (young adult books to read .txt) 📖
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you so much!” over and over again until we ran out of breath.
I opened the door to my father’s room, and at first I thought I was mistaken. He wasn’t there.
“Where have you been?” my mother said. The words were so low that I could only barely hear her. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere!”
“I was just in Amy’s room.” I paused. I wondered if my mom could see it on my face. I wondered if she could smell the sweat. Secretly, I wanted her to recognize this in me. I wanted someone to see that I was now somehow a man. It should have been obvious. I searched her eyes, but they didn’t change. She got up and hugged me, and she did smell like Amy. “Where is Dad?”
“Everything’s going to be okay, Danny. We’ll be okay.”
“Where is Dad?” I said. I was trembling. I felt her arms on my shoulders. “Where is he?”
“He asked for you. You said you were going outside.” I fell against her and my knees hit the concrete floor. She bent over and she held my face in her hands and I cried and the floor still felt like it was raising me up and I was being pressed between it and gravity, squeezed into nothing. I couldn’t pull my face away, and she kept whispering things to me in familiar cooing noises as I slumped fetal and desperate beneath her. She wasn’t crying. She sat down next to me on the floor and she held me. Is this what I was looking for? My memories moved, and inside all of it, scents mixed, movements mixed, and I was incapable of deciphering any of it. I saw my father beside me on his stomach. I saw Amy beside me on her stomach. I lay on my own and I rubbed my forehead against the floor. All moments lasted for hours. All hours became clouds. They floated away before me and I was lost to them in sketches of everything I ever wanted.
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I opened the door to my father’s room, and at first I thought I was mistaken. He wasn’t there.
“Where have you been?” my mother said. The words were so low that I could only barely hear her. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere!”
“I was just in Amy’s room.” I paused. I wondered if my mom could see it on my face. I wondered if she could smell the sweat. Secretly, I wanted her to recognize this in me. I wanted someone to see that I was now somehow a man. It should have been obvious. I searched her eyes, but they didn’t change. She got up and hugged me, and she did smell like Amy. “Where is Dad?”
“Everything’s going to be okay, Danny. We’ll be okay.”
“Where is Dad?” I said. I was trembling. I felt her arms on my shoulders. “Where is he?”
“He asked for you. You said you were going outside.” I fell against her and my knees hit the concrete floor. She bent over and she held my face in her hands and I cried and the floor still felt like it was raising me up and I was being pressed between it and gravity, squeezed into nothing. I couldn’t pull my face away, and she kept whispering things to me in familiar cooing noises as I slumped fetal and desperate beneath her. She wasn’t crying. She sat down next to me on the floor and she held me. Is this what I was looking for? My memories moved, and inside all of it, scents mixed, movements mixed, and I was incapable of deciphering any of it. I saw my father beside me on his stomach. I saw Amy beside me on her stomach. I lay on my own and I rubbed my forehead against the floor. All moments lasted for hours. All hours became clouds. They floated away before me and I was lost to them in sketches of everything I ever wanted.
Imprint
Publication Date: 03-16-2010
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