My Cardboard Balcony

Mur. Classes. Work. Assignments. Tired. Mur. Good night.

This is an untitled, unfinished novel that was technically left alone in late 2008. However, the last time it was modified and checked for errors was 2011, where upon I decided that the absurdity of the plot combined with the sloppy British research was too much for the story to continue. However, seeing as this is Whims of the Time Traveler, it's a perfect example of my first attempt at long fiction, so I've decided to unabashedly display it. Have fun. Untitled: Chapter Two by Belinda Roddie If someone asked me, “What was it like going down that river? Terrifying, am I right?” I wouldn’t be able to give them a straight answer. I don’t remember it very well at all. It’s already bad enough that these random people, after all this time, still ask me about it. Because from what I can tell, not a whole lot of people know or are friends with a girl who was found in a bloody coffin when she was ten years old. Of course, I don’t use it for casual conversation. When I

The bonfire was big enough to be the beach's main light source. It was a torch, crackling with each aluminum can and bottle thrown against the splintered wood. I opened up another flask of whiskey and passed it around. The booze tasted hotter than the flames felt on my face. It was like I was setting my tongue alight. "After this, what do we do next?" one member of the group asked.