For whatever reason, my hands formed these words last night. So I shall post them;
The Writing Warrior
A mysterious old man, long cane and brittle hair, suddenly appeared in front of a distraught, curly haired young man.
“What seems to be the problem?” the old man asked.
“Words” replied the young man.
The young man was covered in and surrounded by words. His face, his arms, even his hair. The walls and ceiling, doors and windows. Words were everywhere - floating and dancing, singing and praying, living and breathing. Words were him and he was words.
The old man knew this and he bent down with a smile.
“Write on young warrior. An epic battle awaits.”
The young man replied with a frown.
“But what of my problem, old man?” he asked.
“The writing is on the wall.” he replied.
And the old man vanished in a puff of words.
Write on young warrior. Write on.
-Nicholas J. Robinson
www.NicholasJRobinson.com
The Writing Warrior
A mysterious old man, long cane and brittle hair, suddenly appeared in front of a distraught, curly haired young man.
“What seems to be the problem?” the old man asked.
“Words” replied the young man.
The young man was covered in and surrounded by words. His face, his arms, even his hair. The walls and ceiling, doors and windows. Words were everywhere - floating and dancing, singing and praying, living and breathing. Words were him and he was words.
The old man knew this and he bent down with a smile.
“Write on young warrior. An epic battle awaits.”
The young man replied with a frown.
“But what of my problem, old man?” he asked.
“The writing is on the wall.” he replied.
And the old man vanished in a puff of words.
Write on young warrior. Write on.
-Nicholas J. Robinson
www.NicholasJRobinson.com
