Writing Marathon Draft

The books called out to me as I walked through the library. Each one had a story to tell but I didn’t have time to listen to all of them. I only had time for one. 

I kept walking until I got to it. I shifted through the contents in my pocket. Finally finding it, I pulled the key out of my pocket. The best stories are locked away. As the head prison guard, I knew this too well. 

The jail today had an extra layer of moisture on the walls. It must have rained earlier this morning. 

This specific story had dark brown eyes that saw too deep and mouth that always held a secret. She stood alone in her cell, facing the door like she was expecting me. She waited for me to speak like I had to apologize for something I did. 

She was around the age of 17, three years younger than me. I don’t know why the King locked her away. The only stories I hear are from the prisoners themselves. I was never told the King’s reasoning behind any of these stories. And why they are locked away. He didn’t even tell me why I was collecting this one for him again. 

Whatever the reason, she looked like one that was not going to let her story be silenced. 


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