I tried my hand at writing the other day, and this is what I came up with. I will post more if i ever write more.
As I stood at the edge of the lake, I pondered my life. I tried and failed to emulate the serenity of the waters. Try as I might, I couldn’t stop the eruption of thoughts in my head. I thought back to last year, when my life fit together like clockwork; I had the perfect little life in the perfect little town. With less than 200 residents, Coltburg was the best place for me. Of course, that was before…now it is a ghost town, with a mere 50 living residents, myself included. Although I doubt I can count as a person, not after what I had done. Over the past seven and a half months, I had become a monster.
As I reflected on my sins, I gazed into the lake. The man I saw was not the same one who moved to Coltburg. Back then; I would have been clean-shaven, with neatly cut brown hair. I dressed, as a man of my position should: a long-sleeved shirt with a necktie and khakis. Now, the man in the lake looked much like the beast I felt. I had long since given up on shaving, and my beard had grown thick and matted. My once neat hair now hung to my shoulders, and my equally neat clothes had been replaced with more furs than an aristocrat. My cleanliness was gone, blown away like my innocence. I now leaned heavily on my cane, an ornate branch carved with a pocketknife. I had grown to thin these last few months, it seemed. My face appeared stretched around my skull, with sunken in eyes and concave cheeks. I used to be a very husky man, but the lack of food had changed that.
After what felt like an eternity, I pried my eyes away from the lake and hobbled back to my cottage. It all seemed so long ago… I got out last bits of paper I had and resumed my writings. I believe that, even if Coltburg were lost to the pages of history, its tale of horror and disgrace would not die all together. I sat at my ramshackle desk, a crude thing of rough-hewn wood, and started my Chronicle of Coltburg.