“Your friend, your twenty years of a friend...”
This is a section from a short story I'm developing... all thanks to just free-writing for ten minutes each day. I think this process has helped me to refocus; I'm more aware of how my day-to-day experiences can influence my work. I used to do this while I was in college, but I think I just lost it a little somewhere along the way. So now I'm back to the notebook being filled with words and scribbles (and some doodles when my mind goes off in a completely different direction). Anyway, I hope you like this story taster!
Beside you, was your friend, all tucked up in a blanket; a blanket that should have been yours. Your friend, your twenty years of a friend, sat with you in the mornings as you drank your steaming coffee, waiting for the 6am news on the telly. Your friend would talk to you too, and you would talk back; although you never could understand each other. For twenty years your friend would often sit in silence as you cried into your hands so nobody could hear. Your friend though, knew different. Your friend saw you in a way that others did not.