Novella - Chapter 2Chapter Two The Frog Croaks -or- Breaking Beauty
Sitting on a lily pad and resting in a man-made pond at the top of a building there croaks a frog in the rain. That winter rain is good for the frogs but only until it snows. Once the snow falls that little green master-singer will be stuck to the water he was only just swimming in the day before. Though in this city, the croak of a frog is something of an imagination boggler. All else is death-sirens and the sounds of police on radios, everything is chaos and no one is safe. Such a sad city where the sound of a frog in the winter rain is an astonishment to the mind. He keeps croaking as the rain falls, only leaving that small little patch of green when a large iron door is opened.
The door slams open, sending more than the frog and his lily pad for a jolt. Birds that forgot to leave for the winter panic, though they can not fly away. The rain is too heavy and they would surly drown before getting far. The birds simply ruff
Novella - PrologueDear Reader;
Welcome to Novella, a world of backwards understandings and simple miscommunications. One can not say what they mean in the world of Novella as nothing can be said as it is actually meant. It is an impossibility, but so many try so hard to do that very, very thing. So upon that thought and brief understanding of our world, I shall let you meet the one man within Novella who somehow broke a steel wall with a mallet made of bread. This one man managed to say exactly what he meant and it was soon after that we all began to do the same.
His name was Erik Bernard Nothing. That name was given to him as a joke by the father he doesn't talk with and a mother he never knew. A horrible joke on a child who did nothing wrong but deserved to be always reminded he was nothing. Bernard was the family name but we'll let Erik explain everything once he wakes up. See there, in that little apartment on the third floor of that building on the corner of the street? That small apartment filled
From The Unmoving AboveNothing goes anywhere; it all just sits and stays where it was dropped. Just floating among the nothing, each and every little piece of everything going in exactly no direction at all. It all sits still, breathing with the air around it as though now it was one giant cloud. This is what I deem as my home and my existence. It has become just this place where nothing moves, though everything right below is nothing beyond a drive. That drive, is a woman and while we can never reach I have fallen deeply fallen far too deeply.
She sleeps, now, though other times she is wakeful and moving. Here I am, up above and far away, while she lies down below me in a peaceful state. Her very dream allows movement and success, I am stuck. Here, that is where I am remained to an infinity loop of stagnation. She breathes and exhales while the sun beats down gently upon her face. I see not the sun, only the glow to her otherwise paleness. I only know of the moon, the sun is a dream among and fo