.:Stories of Everyone:.
 

Welcome to my story/drabble/poem/whatever-the-heck-I-write corner! >w<

All stories/drabbles/poems/etc. typed into this topic are written by me. Some pictures or photographs used are taken from other resources, and these will be listed if needed.

Please don't steal and claim my work as your own ;)

- - -

There are 6.6 billion people in the world.

Think of all those people - it may be easy for you, if you think of them as just ordinary people. But now, think of them as individuals. Every person has their own life, personality, family, history, relationships... every person has their own story. Every person in the statistic of 6.6 billion is unique.

It's pretty amazing.

Lives of every living thing in the world, and probably other worlds or parallel universes, if they exist, cross over in endless circles and scribbles. It's the intricate, weaving, crazy web of time and life. Some lives never meet; instead they run next to each other, parallel. And others are crossed many times over.

These are the stories of a few people - they're not the stories of everyone in the world, but of just a handful of people. Whether or not these people exist is hard to tell.

So, will you read on about these people... or leave? It's your call.

- - -

Slice of the World
http://bp3.blogger.com/_VhOW2_SAThg/...8729ffd5f8.jpg
[image from underaglassbell.deviantart.com]

I am lying under a tree on a mountaintop, among jagged grey rocks and dry, frayed grass.

Looking up, I can see the gnarled and twisted branches of the tree, which is covered in clusters of white-grey leaves. There is a string of a thin spider web. Is it a work in progress or an abandoned but once grand ruin?

Around me are the outlines of scattered rocks and strange tufts of grass sticking out from odd crevices.

Behind me is a boulder, a strange chipped rectangular block. On top of it is propped a small battery-powered radio, with its soft music playing gently.

The sky is, in comparison, a very bright blue colour. Clouds are scattered like the rocks on the mountain are.

I look at my surroundings for a while, then close my eyes. The fresh smell of the somehow sunburnt air fills my nostrils as I breathe in. All I can hear is the crackling song of the radio, a little buzz in the background, and the occasional chirps of a bird nearby.

This is my little slice of the world.