A broken vein of the dry cracked leaf,
Another crack from the heart within,
It follows and follows every dream
Shattering them into fragile piece-by-piece.
Lucy sighed and felt guilty at once after she wrote it.
Why am I acting so depressed?
She hastily scribbled over the page, the ink flowing messily all over the paper and staining the skin of her palm and fingers. She groaned and looked towards her window and found her blurry reflection staring back at her with frustration.
Lucy was just a teenage girl who was dreaming of becoming an author. She always had that dream. Since childhood, whenever she was asked about her future career, she would always keep changing her answers from doctor to scientist to fashion designer to every other career that she would learn about. But 'a writer too' was a consistent answer that she would always add.
She sighed with exhaustion. Hopeless romantic is just not my type.
She was always worried. Writing comedy? Seemed too cringe and immature. Writing murder? Hard to plot. Writing romance? What will her parents think?
Then she would remember her bestie's words, that would always comfort her from the judgmental fear:
Writing murder doesn't mean you are a murderer. So, writing romance won't mean you are into thooosee things.
But those words now comforted her no more. She jumped to her bed in frustration, trying to force her brain to become better.
A quick nap always helps.
That was her motto. And so, she slept. And she woke up to be a murderer.
[Soul Transfer Successful! ]