Short Story Part I: Sunset

I gave myself time to really try and develop my own voice and style in terms of how I convey my imagery and character development on the page. When I decided to myself that I wanted to try and carve out my own legacy as a writer/author/storyteller I couldn't help feel fearful of the decision that I had made so many months ago. All my life I always looked at my written skills as some what of a weakness of mine. I was an outdoors kinda guy, with having numerous camping and sports related activity to add towards my identity of being a guy's guy. In school I was always good at history and english, but I dreaded the research and essay assignments only for one reason; I HATED WRITING!

So now imagine the irony of having attended all my years of postgraduate and graduate school to try and find my direction towards what the heck I was supposed to do with my life, only to settle on the idea that I enjoy a good old fashion story and that I may have the talents to prove that I could take a pretty good crack at it. I was never the student that enjoyed reading for work and I was the first to reach the infamous Cliff Notes that so many students used to get that passing grade on that weeks quiz. 

Although I was always looking for the quick out to avoiding reading as an assignment, I found pleasure in reading as recreation and how it translated so well into actually conceptualizing, developing, and actually writing out the story beats that would drum in my head for months. Imagine me, a kid who failed college English because he couldn't "effectively state an argument through a comprehensive essay" finally dabling towards the notion of becoming a writer. 

Perhaps it is a case of failure becoming the ultimate teacher in life. Writing has always been my own nemesis within my mind; a sort of battle against myself. The love hate relationship that I have had towards this medium can only be described as poetic as I am constantly reminded of an old African Proverb, "When there is no enemy within, the enemies outside can do us no harm." 

I am now coming to grips with this realization that my own enemy can very much be my own hardest teacher, giving me the essential tools required to take me towards the next step of my own development. So I have for you now a piece of my very own short story that I have finally decided to flesh out. The background to this story will relate towards my central character from Beneath The Ink. This is the first part of a multi-episode series that I will be continuing developing.
Part I
          The sun was warm. Perfect. Setting across a distant horizon. I couldn’t tell you how many times I didn’t notice those kinds of things. Never gave it much more then a passing glance. But I’m here now, with the long flowing grass beneath my neck. The western sky was set ablaze as I wondered; will I see the sun again?

          “Hey, I want to go back in.”

           A steady rising and falling to the steady rhythm of my breath; Angela’s hair lies across my chest.
          “I thought you were into these kinds of scenes,” I mocked.
          “No it’s getting cold,” Angela was already getting up, “I’d like to go while we still have light out.”

          She stood there waiting for a response, but I was feeling my usual today.

          “Just go back alone then,” I spurted out. 
          I don’t know why I said it. I wasn’t even mad at her. I held up the bottle of some brown liquor and through it back. I let it set, as the liquid burned the back of my mouth. Maybe I needed the silence; maybe I wanted the pain, 
          “A little bit longer, okay.” 
          Without so much as glance, Angela turns and makes here way up the dirt trail.


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