Hi! Thanks for reading! My hobbies include making coffee, drinking coffee, and starting to write a story and then rage-deleting it when I get the slightest bit frustrated.
What the F is Magical Realism?
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. "Ummm...what the heck did I just read?" I said to my hovering coworkers, tapping my fingernails against my rather anachronistic journal and fountain pen while staring into the bright and unnatural light of my laptop screen.
TIME: now, sometime after midnight PLACE: somewhere over the ocean Zirin's wings rippled in the cold, damp air. He extended and curled his talons a few times to restore some blood flow and shook his enormous head back and forth rapidly to clear the fog that had begun to settle deeper into his brain. This was by far the longest flight he had ever attempted. For the first several hours he had been filled with exhilaration and a sense of pride in himself as an intrepid adventurer off on a quest...now he was just filled with mind numbing fatigue and a sense of dread and deja vu at every swelling wave that passed below.