contemplating where i should continue writing 'about a boy named richard'

stories have never been my thing...
story-writing too...

but... anyway, this is what i have so far.

About a boy named richard.

Chapter 1

[natalie]

This is the story about a boy. He is no taller than six foot five, and weighs not more than 55 kg.

In many ways, to many people, he is just an ordinary boy. No more special, no less. But I knew he was special. From the moment I saw him.

But I can't really say I saw him.
You see, I'm blind, so I couldn’t have seen a car if I was walking across the road and a mindless driver drove straight towards me.But it’s special because when you're blind, everything else in the world is much clearer, to me at least. It's almost as if, to make up for my lost in sight, my four other senses are sharper than any normal person. I can smell the aroma of freshly baked pies from three streets away, or feel the warm sun’s rays on my skin, or hear the beautiful sound of water running down a stream. Much clearer, much more beautiful.I can feel it in people's voices when they speak to me. I can 'see' their looks of pity.

But I am not bitter about my not being able to see. I am just glad to be alive, to experience this beautiful world. It's great to be alive.But I haven't told you about this boy yet. Alas. And I have named this book after him!I wouldn’t be able to tell you exactly what he looked like. Whether he had brown hair or blond. Whether he was Asian or Caucasian. Whether his eyes were deep blue, like that of the Indian ocean's, or emerald green like that of the Amazon forest, like what other people say. I do not know what green is, or what brown looks like, or what black is.

These do not matter to me.All I know is, amid a world of beautiful blur, he is the only clear image I see.

Despite being blind, I can see the outline of objects and people. Perhaps it is almost like my eyelids help me to see', so I am able to tell if a person is approaching or when an object is thrown at me. If you look through my eyes, the world is like pretty water colour painting. Except it is all of the same colour. There isn’t even black and white. Just a wonderful blur of images and outlines.But when I saw him, I knew he was special. I could see clearly, his face; his eyes; his hair; his cheekbones; his slouched shoulders; his feet as they shuffled against the pavement; the way his hand rested wearily against the shop window. And I thought to myself, oh my god.

[richard]

Many people think that we live our lives to experience a certain strong feeling, to go through a certain process, or to meet a special someone. For me, I believe life only really began the moment I looked up from the dusty pavement and saw her. However corny and ridiculous it may sound, the purpose of my very existence is probably just so I could meet her. But I haven't told you about her, have I? It's been sometime since she left. I think I should tell you about her. This brilliant girl. Some people would disagree that I should use the word 'brilliant' to describe her, but there is, no other better word to describe her. She is, simply, brilliant.

Firstly let me introduce myself.

My name is Richard.

It’s quite an irony because i'm very poor actually. Don’t get the joke? Rich-ard. Not funny? Not my idea. Ask my ol' mum. It was her bright idea to name her son Richard, thinking it would ensure him a lifetime of fortune and enormous wealth.

And what’s even funnier is there’s actually a font in Microsoft word called 'poor Richard'. Splendid.So I decided to use this font.But that’s not very important. I’m so sorry I sort of went off-topic again.

Where was I? Ah. Now I remember. You must understand that I am getting old, so you can’t blame me if I keep forgetting what I want to say or keep straying away from the topic. Just how old am I? The last time I checked, I think I was sixty seven. But that was a couple of years back. Oh well. That’s that.It's not easy being old. Everything seems to yellow, and you start to reminisce the times when you were young and you took everything for granted. I can still remember clearly, the day I looked into that beautifully carved wooden coffin. And I saw her beautiful face, for the very last time.

Only at that very moment, did the revelation finally dawn upon me; I had to accept that she left, and would that she would never come back. I remember she told me very specifically before she left, that she wanted the wood for her coffin to be cedar. She said she liked the scent of cedar, and that it was strong and sturdy. I asked her if she wanted me to carve anything on it, and she said, okay, I’ll let you decide.

So I did.
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chapter 2 next post =)

haha.