Been so drawn to Haruki Murakami, Scott Fitzgerald and Gabriel Garcia Manquez that I just started working on my own novel. Excerpt of the beginning I. Wandering She began by inhaling a fresh and light breeze from a wary looking window, aged by the incessant ticking of time as it innocuously passes by. This time of day was her mogul. She adored the rising of the sun as it breathes hope to her desolate soul. A young woman in her early 20’s, she, like any other fool for the world, is in search for the pretension in finding meaning in one’s mortal life. Contradictory, she, as a matter of fact, has not given consideration to that sense of thought, for her youth was in her grasp. Her unblemished fair skin rimming her physicality, her perfectly shaped bussom draw the eyes of searching men and the aura and charm she exudes is a compelling one leaving the prosaic pedestrian at a momentary loss. At her point in life, she was living like she clandestinely possessed an inundate invincibility for only her to consume. She fumbled with her bed head and staidly moved towards the lavatory. She took her time as she let the cool water trickle oven her wan countenance, as if to bring color to her pale cheeks. She let her palms suspend to ephemerally catch the flow. Slowly, the young lady looks up and cocks her head to the side to gaze at her own reflection in an old antique mirror that once was owned by people of power in the Philippines. How it ended up in the senescence of her archaic home, she hasnt quite figured, but seeing her vague reflection upon it made her believe that she possessed power in her life congruent to its predecessors. A line of a smile washes over her face as she lets the last undulating flow graze her porcelain skin. Another day to be Maria Naomi Belmonte.
Posted on: Sat, 08 Feb 2014 00:47:58 +0000
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