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An author dies the second time
When she brings out the age-old manuscript she wrote at eight. She thought it was beautiful, she thought it was magnificent. Roaring dragons and a gorgeous Princess floating across liddle teeny weeny tiny lovely boats, lovely liddle boats and then you say 'Boo!' and the boats will shiver and their eyes would open wide, teeny tiny wittle boats with Princess kissing the woman of her dreams, beautiful Princesses, beautiful Queens -
But she feels nothing anymore. A dead soul encased in a dead body.
A coffin.
1
Childhood is a funny thing, and innocence is a funny thing. Everyone has these things, it's just that sometimes they go away over time. And sometimes you find your childhood in nostalgia or your innocence in how things may work around you (for ex: a corrupt government's full power will only scratch the surface of an adult, but be oblivious to a late teen. Both are innocent in concept), and I think this part is really well-put.
As an adult, many just lose those childhood traits because the real world demands it, but this begs the question: do we have to lose it /all/?
Lovely writing, captivating for less than 200 words each page (so far)! Your short stories are well crafted and my heart breaks for the author.
And the innocence of a child melts away like a popsicle in a summer too hot.