If I were to write a book it would be amazing. My words would sing and swim along the page, the margins bright and blazing. The font, it would be stoic with a great and solid strength. The page numbers on the corners would whisper you its length. Each flip of flimsy paper would take you hundreds of words deeper. The word count with each turn would increase, getting dangerously steeper.
My book, it would have chapters. They would be broken up by scene. The characters would have adventures and romances, from careful to obscene. The protagonist of my story would be a boy who meets a girl. That is really all there is to life, there’s no other story in this world.
At first they would fall madly in love and everything would be grand. You would almost be sick of how happy they seemed as they kissed or held each others hand. But as with every story there would have to be some strife. No one can have eternal happiness, that’s just not allowed in a literary life.
The boy would go off to war, or the girl’s father would not consent. Their love would face a challenge or an egregious dissent. All their friends, the townsfolk too, would gladly cheer their love. But the father of the damsel had an opinion that would not budge. The boy bound by duty would have to serve his country at war. The girl left on the docks with tears as the ship grew further from the shore.
The girl missed him deeply and plunged into a depressed state. Her only thing worth living for was letters delivered to her gate. They came frequently at first, as much as he could write. But as the fighting worsened the volume became light. She thought the worst had happened when she hadn’t heard for months. Other suitors began lining up, such as vultures after the hunt.
Or the father would banish the boy who loved his daughter’s heart. The boy wouldn’t be good enough, an opinion made from the start. The overbearing father’s rage would promise her to another. She would threaten tragedy to herself and plead reprieve from her mother. None of this would work so the boy and girl hatched a plan. The would run away together and live a life on the lamb.
The boy at war would fight for survival and the girl would fight for love. The armies and her father did not hold a chance to what their hearts could overcome. The boy would make it home and take the girl back in his arms. The girl would ignore her father’s demands and escape with the boy, free from harm. Each pair the same and living in a life filled with laughter. They stayed the course and true to their love were rewarded happily ever after.
My book would be completed, both front cover and the back. The pages white, the acknowledgements short and the words all typed in black. One day I’d see my novel on shelves in a book store. They would be next to best-selling authors like Rowling, King and many more. I’d be so proud of myself for accomplishing this dream. One I’ve had since high school when I didn’t realize how much it would mean. I’ll keep on trying to complete this fervent fantasy of mine. The ideas are here, the writings started, now all I’m competing with is time.