I've decided that I might as well share some of my writing. In all honesty, I believe that I want to rewrite that one, if whatever is controlling me allows me to.
I hope someone enjoys this.
In the was wasteland, I hear people screaming outside the window. There is nothing I can do for them, their minds have gone the way of the dinosaur. They are brainless zombies, monsters willing to do anything to get their hands on some delightful treat.
The girl I once loved is in the crowd with them, banging against my window hoping to be able to get in and devour me. To see her in this state, I can't help but cry.
Cry for the person she used to be.
Cry for the person she has become.
I sometimes can't get passed a few hundred words before whatever is making me this way decides to give me another idea for a story that desperately requires my attention.
If this continues.
Then no one can blame me for my actions.
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