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Post by thejokerlaughsatu on Feb 5, 2011 0:17:38 GMT -5
The laptop keys clicked softly beneath his fingers, breaking the peaceful silence of the library. There were other occasional interruptions, maybe a soft footstep muffled by the carpet, or the turning of a page, but the typing was the only constant noise. He barely noticed. With headphones in, he was fully concentrated on the screen in front of him.
Writing was like magic. The white page slowly darkened as the black font of his words filled it from the top down, like a glass filling in reverse. He never knew where the words came from. Many of them were words he would never use in conversation, words that he wasn't always completely sure he knew until they appeared on the page in front of him. It was like summoning a voice from another dimension, a silent voice whose only outlet was to speak through his fingers.
He was nearing the end of the story now, and there was no stopping him. The words came quickly, his fingers working furiously as they danced over the keyboard. This was it, his masterpiece, the best work he'd written to date, and there was nothing that could ruin it. He'd saved obsessively, pausing to hit "Ctrl + S" at the end of every paragraph. Only a few more words to go.
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Post by desirae on Feb 5, 2011 1:48:28 GMT -5
  - - - - - - - - - - -
Desirae's hand slowly grazed the spines of books as she searched for a specific book. She loved the feel of all the books under her finger tip, and the fact that she had read most of them already gave her a sense of satisfaction. She loved to read. She loved getting lost in the worlds and characters of all the different stories she read. And when she really enjoyed the book, she loved getting lost in her own fantasies of herself being in those worlds meeting those characters, following those stories.
She tapped her finger softly on the spine of a book and smiled. That's the one she wanted. She read all kinds of books, for all ages. At this moment she had been wanting to read the newest book by Rick Riordan, The Lost Hero from the Heroes of Olympus series. She had read the preceding series, Percy Jackson and the Olympians in full and she simply adored it, so she was excited to continue her love for the series with this one.
Desirae pulled the fairly new book out of it's home in the shelf and smiled down at the illustrated cover. Just seeing Rick Riordan's name on it excited her because she loved the original books so much. She got a better grip on the book and proceeded to walk out of the isle. As she passed the last few books and was now facing the open expanse of the library, she heard a clicking noise.
No... it's more like typing... Desirae internally corrected herself. She turned her head in the direction of the noise and her eyes landed on a boy feverishly typing on a laptop.
Curiosity began taking control as she started to walk over to the boy, wondering what he was so enthusiastically typing. It couldn't be school work, could it? Even she, a straight A student, didn't type that excitedly over a school assignment. No, he had to be typing something for himself, she thought.
Well, there's only one way to find out...
She approached the boy, and noticing that he had headphones in poked his shoulder gingerly to get his attention.
- - - - - - - - - - - WORDS: three five nine
TAG: nathan
OUTFIT: clicky! i felt like a mickey t-shirt
MOOD: i is sleepehhh -_-
NOTES: my first IC post on this site!! WOOT! *does a happy dance*
CREDIT: MEH!!
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Post by thejokerlaughsatu on Feb 19, 2011 17:01:09 GMT -5
The last few words formed on the page. He tapped the button for the last period, then sat back in his chair and let his gaze skim over the words. There were hundreds of them, several full pages of Microsoft Word, and he was satisfied. The story was done. Nathan never went back to edit, or to correct anything; he changed spelling and grammatical errors as he typed, constantly back-spacing to catch any slip of the fingers, and the story itself was perfect as it was. Writing was about getting the words out how they were meant to come out, not changing them again and again until he thought they were perfect. He always made sure to find the perfect words the first time, because going back to change them was a terrible sin.
He was only mid-story in the rereading of his latest work when he felt a poke at his shoulder. The touch sent immediate signals through him, thoughts of panic and terror. Touch. Pain. Evil. Leave. It was an automatic reaction, after so many years, to do all he could to get away from the person touching him. He jumped to his feet, letting his headphones drop onto the keyboard as the cord reached its limit and pulled the earbuds back down. "What do you want?" he snapped. "Don't read over my shoulder!"
Only once he'd spoken to defend himself did he stop to take in the intruder. His eyes slowly surveyed the girl in front of him, absorbing every detail from top to bottom. She was holding a book, a good sign, especially because she knew how to hold it. Those people infuriated him, the ones who abused books and left them open upside-down on a table to save their spot. That ruined them, broke the spines, and left the books looking ugly. At least she cared enough to hold it correctly.
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