Hi, Marizo here! So this is a story that I got the idea for in a dream, I'm not sure if I should start writing it so this is a little preview. If you guys think I should continue writing it pls comment below or like.
3/21
My father is a nice man. A nice but strict man. He governs this country with fairness. He just signed an act this morning giving every family that needs help food. our country is in the middle of an economic crisis, one that my father is slowly but steadily pulling us out of.
I set down my frayed diary on the worn and beaten desk in front of me. I had written that over a year ago when my father decided to start moving throughout the country, to look at the daily lives of his subjects. Every time we moved the conditions became direr. But this town was one of the better ones. My bedroom would be barely a closet in the royal palace. The walls are brown, the paint chipping off in the corners where the doors close. I walked over to the door of my room. I looked at the bare hallway in front of me, picturing how I would paint it, the sunlight falling on the floor. The village we were visiting this time was by the coast, so we had a pretty view.
I walked forward to the lone window in the hallway to peer at the waves that crashed against the cliffs underneath our house. The waves were stubborn as hell, continuously hitting the cliffs, slowly but steadily eating them away. I pulled out a small sketchbook and hopelessly tried to copy the way the waves crashed in and out. With the melancholy absence of sound, sight, smell, and touch had mostly taken over. I put my sketchbook back in my pocket and leaned out of the window breathing in the salty air.
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