A Purpose - Paper Souls #1
A Purpose - Paper Souls #1  time stories
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kgirl
kgirl “In a place where fantasy meets reality”
Autoplay OFF   •   4 months ago
Creatures born from ink and paper are forever bonded to our souls.

Part One of my first story collection, ‘Paper Souls’.

What did you think of it? Let me know in the comments!

Also, I’m really, really curious to know, what was your first thought when reading ‘Tic, Tic, Tic,’? What came to your mind first? Why?

A Purpose - Paper Souls #1

Tic,

Tic, Tic,

Tic, Tic, Tic,

You define what it is.

Tic,

Tic, Tic,

Tic, Tic, Tic,

A brand, new typewriter, Enthusiastic of typing down the words pouring from the soul of the poet,

Or an alarm going off too early in the morning,

Or the pen of a tireless writer, Fully immersed in the pages of their last work,

Or again, the sound of a clock ticking, Remarking the unstoppable passing of time.

Tic,

Tic, Tic,

Tic, Tic, Tic,

Depending on what you think it is,

That it becomes.

Like an adult who gets over a childhood fear, Then looks back at it, And understands just how silly fearing the dark was,

Like an adult who gets over a childhood fear, Then looks back at it, And understands just how silly fearing the dark was, So you get to decide

What to feel and what not to,

What to hear and what not to,

What to see and what not to.

Like an adult who gets over a childhood fear, Then looks back at it, And understands just how silly fearing the dark was,

Like an adult who gets over a childhood fear, Then looks back at it, And understands just how silly fearing the dark was, So you get to decide

Who feels and what they feel,

Who hears and what they hear,

Who sees and what they see.

Tic,

Tic, Tic,

Tic, Tic, Tic,

That’s how time has been created.

That’s how time has been created. As there is no time if you don’t define its passing as well.

That’s how time has been created. As there is no time if you don’t define its passing as well. How it dies as every second goes by,

That’s how time has been created. As there is no time if you don’t define its passing as well. How it dies as every second goes by, Just to keep on living again.

And there is no human if they don’t have a purpose to live for.

And there is no human if they don’t have a purpose to live for. Sometimes, even to die for.

And there is no human if they don’t have a purpose to live for. Sometimes, even to die for. Most of the times, a purpose that makes them scared to die before they can successfully fulfill it.

And there is no human if they don’t have a purpose to live for. Sometimes, even to die for. Most of the times, a purpose that makes them scared to die before they can successfully fulfill it. That’s why people fear time so much.

Those were the thoughts of the old man, as he worked on his last, beautiful project.

Those were the thoughts of the old man, as he worked on his last, beautiful project. ‘Tic, Tic, Tic.’

Those were the thoughts of the old man, as he worked on his last, beautiful project. ‘Tic, Tic, Tic.’ He was conscious of the pixie’s eyes fixed on him, curious, fascinated even.

‘What’s that?’ She finally asked.

‘This — this is a precious gift for a very special soul, Lily.

‘This — this is a precious gift for a very special soul, Lily. ‘Beware, I’m giving this only to a few of them: they are called writers.

‘This — this is a precious gift for a very special soul, Lily. ‘Beware, I’m giving this only to a few of them: they are called writers. ‘Because as the purpose of time is passing, dying, living again,

‘So the purpose of these writers is to give life to the words they write on paper. ‘You know, Lily, there is no writing without a writer’s heart that guides words and thoughts as they are written down.

The little pixie remained silent for a moment, lost in her own thoughts,

The little pixie remained silent for a moment, lost in her own thoughts, ‘They seem so... different from us, these writers.’

The old man smiled warmly at her words.

The old man smiled warmly at her words. ‘That’s because, even though humans are not immortal,

The old man smiled warmly at her words. ‘That’s because, even though humans are not immortal, writers are able to bottle up eternity in every word they write down.

The old man smiled warmly at her words. ‘That’s because, even though humans are not immortal, writers are able to bottle up eternity in every word they write down. ‘And that, Lily, I like to believe,

The old man smiled warmly at her words. ‘That’s because, even though humans are not immortal, writers are able to bottle up eternity in every word they write down. ‘And that, Lily, I like to believe, is magic at its purest form.’

Tic,

Tic, Tic,

Tic, Tic, Tic.

The typewriter keeps on typing down the poet’s thoughts as allegory.

The typewriter keeps on typing down the poet’s thoughts as allegory. The alarm goes off again.

The typewriter keeps on typing down the poet’s thoughts as allegory. The alarm goes off again. The pen follows its tireless writer’s instructions.

The typewriter keeps on typing down the poet’s thoughts as allegory. The alarm goes off again. The pen follows its tireless writer’s instructions. Time keeps on passing by, unstoppable.

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