Storia inventata in inglese. Esperimento avviato.
Stepped outside.
A Short Story
by Jane Doe
Selva Greenwood was thinking about Connor Wayfille again.
Connor was a tall guy with green eyes and a skinny body. Selva a walked over to the window and reflected on her secret surroundings. She had always loved the dark Lighthouse with its graceful grass.
It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel hyped. Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone.
It was the brave figure of Connor Wayfille. Selva gulped.
She glanced at her own reflection. She was a moody, smart, black russian drinker with charming eyes. Her friends saw her as a wise potterhead.
Once, she had even brought a gifted kitten back from the brink of death. But not even a moody person who had once brought a gifted kitten back from the brink of death, was prepared for what Connor had in store today. The wind blew like singing bats, making Selva mysterious.
Selva grabbed a sparkling fire that had been strewn nearby; she massaged it with her fingers. As Selva stepped outside and Connor came closer, she could see the envious glint in his eye. "I am here because I want to talk," Connor bellowed, in a hopeful tone. He slammed his fist against Selva's chest, with the force of 1226 mice. "I frigging love you, Selva Greenwood." Selva looked back, even more mysterious and still fingering the sparkling fire. "Connor, you know me and you don't," she replied. They looked at each other with shocked feelings, like two cooing, comfortable cats jumping at a very lovable birthday, which had piano music playing in the background and two courageous uncles running to the beat. Selva regarded Connor's eyes. She held out her hand.
"Let's not fight," she whispered, gently.
"Hmph," pondered Connor. "Please?" begged Selva with doe eyes. Connor looked uncomfortable, his body blushing like an ice-dancing, immense iphone. Then Connor came inside for a nice drink of black russian. THE END
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