Writing Dialog 2:

Writing dialog 2:

Two friends were drinking ice tea on top of a bridge, overlooking a dead road.

-"So... how was your week?" Asked Suzzane, mixing some sugar in the cold infusion.

-"Nothing out of the ordinary; I went to a cemetery," said John, sitting on the bridge's guardrail.

-"Thank god you didn't do anything weird! what happened? was someone you knew?"

-"No, the professor recommends that I see some scultures for my anatomy assignment," answered John nonchalantly, serving himself another glass of tea.

-"Let me get this right," said Suzzane, with a contagious smile. "When someone says sculture, do you think of cemeteries?"

She had a quirk when talking about something funny; she would move her hands as if they were a tennis fan, moving his head from one opposite side of the field to the other in mere seconds.

-"No, it wasn't my first pick; museums aren't cheap, you know." John almost choked on his tea. He was about to ask Suzzane about her week when suddenly heaven became real and in technicolor, a great roar could be heard from miles, John almost lost his balance from the guardrail, the silvery light became lighting shooting upwards, breaking that afternoon's peace in the valley, shaking bones, breaking glasses, and damaging eardrums. The rocket, the last wonderful thing humanity created, was now in high orbit, leaving a white, fluffy cloud where it once flew.

They were rigid, looking upwards, not in glee as Suzzane's little brother, but with disdain. The first rockets were a great talking point among the people of the valley, some sort of privilege and pride they share and show like a medal to the region, "They are close to the stars!!" Would said journalists but now it's more like a nuisance. The Mac's and Roudy's were the first families to leave, followed by the Carlson's and the Evans. Soon the grand majority of the town was a collection of empty spaces, lost in time while the future was roaring and flying no more than 6 miles from them.

Suzzane broke the silence.

-"The old tongues said that winter and fall were below 68 degrees, and that the rockets brought longer days and shorter nights." Said Suzzane contemplating the amber liquid flowing from the broken glass.

-"I went to the cemetery because it's quiet, no packs of people, no flashes, no laughs. I mean, what kind of museum puts on display bright colors and chalkboards? Cemeteries have that hidden effect on us; it's no place to be joking; it's solemn. A radiography of time, where different art styles and movements solidified for eternity, did you know that the real Gioconda was burned for her smile? Cemeteries have this aura of the past, the unbearable past, where all the bad, decadent, and violent were normalized, a place where museums go to die, where memories are set in stone, crimes and regrets are visible for you to be horrified or wonder, not only did I finish my sketches, I came with horrible conclusions."

But before John could elaborate, another wonder of humanity rose free from gravity. A deafening chorus made by millon dammed souls.

In order for something to prosper, other things or someone must be wretched.

-"I'm sorry about your father. I know things seem bleak, but he will get a job really soon." Said Suzzane, enveloping the broken glass in newspaper.

-"Thanks, it was a long week." John sighted, jumped from the guardrail to Suzzane, helped her put the glasses in the basket, and they started to descend the bridge.

-"My little brother is obsessed with space; he wants to be an astronaut when he grows up."

-"Good for him, I guess; at least he doesn't need to commute that much from here."

And they walked together, alone, in the middle of the dead road to their homes.

Typical old book cover : blank

Well... what about the first page? Also blank

Ok, ok let's see the book spine: Name of the author who I don't know (sometimes it's Russian)

That doesn't tell me anything, I shall see the back cover: blank

I'm loosing it! Maybe the last page has an index: nope.

Ok, last try second page of the book: title

But... but what's the book about? I'm in a hurry!!

Magic, but is used and created by subscribing to one of many magicOS.

Of course you can use the well-known/used propietary MagicCraft-11X, But uses all you energy and twice a day you must update your connection to the official magic-server by a fee, in order to use the full support system.

Ah yes! Antidepresants!

You can't be depressed if you are uncouncious...

Those heavy moments shall end soon

Feeling the green under my feet

Letting the cold air caress my cheek

Eyes closed, eating my own dreams

Recalling those night drinks

I'm balancing over the knife edge.

So long, I'll miss you, old friend.

Fresh toast, fried eggs

That morning was a living hell.

I woke up from such a sad slumber.

I poured me some cold water.

Someday, the nightmares will be over.

Now, they are inside my brown jotter.

She used to love the sea

Chasing forgotten dreams,

Taking that silver train

To that faraway place.

I just pray for a nice drink.

The ticket man stops my concetration,

Asks me a simple question,

Hands me a moldy piece of paper,

And says 'See you later!'

The infinite blue sea is the view.

What secret such clear water hold?

While on it's surface, seagulls strew,

And by the coast, people stroll.

The unforgiving train carries on.

Everyone is anxious to arrive.

I have no worries; it's better to be surprised.

At least the brezee is cold.

A thunder breaks the scene.

No more wind, only fear.

Everyone runs, but the train keeps its march.

I do not fret, for I posses a larch.

Now the ocean is noxious ink,

Rough waves whip the sharp rocks,

They flew away, in a blink.

The birds are being eating by hacks.

He's back, the twisted deadman.

He tries to grab my back.

But I stab him with the larch,

Just before burning away, it laughs.

I cry on my seat,

The train keeps moving straight.

I thank her, her last message, in old paper.

I can still hear the bell.

The Jorney will not end.

Neither my restless rage.

I shall never forgive.

How they stole her face.

The train by the sea,

It's carrying me closer to Titania.

The Empress of the fay,

She who put my little sister in the grave.