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Original Writing - Novel Introduction - Papilo-Onis.

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Papilo-onis Grace sat on the bar stool contemplating her misery. Life was at rock bottom, could things get any worse than this? New Years eve, here she was, down and alone, isolated in her own misery. A half drunk, mediocre bottle of red wine her only friend and solace. The club was brightly festooned with streamers and helium balloons gently kissed the ceiling, their ribbon tails within jumping grasp of the revellers. Pulsating with upbeat dance music the venue oozed festive cheer and a feel good factor. Grace hated it. Droplets of self pity and self loathing cascaded from her bloodshot eyes like the first few delicate drops of rain before a flood. ...read more.


The harder she tried the harder it became. Grace was fighting a losing battle against an unbeatable foe, a war in herself. The rush of the cool-night air hit her like a severe north wind and streamed through her long, blond hair, pushing it from her face and drying her unrelenting tears. She shut her eyes and just stood there, letting the fierce wind whip round her, entering her body and invading her senses, she was reluctant to let the moment pass. Grace suddenly opened her eyes, as if for the first time seeing clearly. She had a wild look about her and a smile played upon her lips as she straightened her previously slouched form, threw back her shoulders as if stretching her butterfly wings and inhaled her own potential. ...read more.


Her ears so finely-tuned that they picked up the slightest whisper of sound, the smallest shadow of motion. Her sense of touch so enlightened that her skin seemed to tingle and her sense of taste so delicate she almost tasted the air. Grace was euphoric; yet she disguised it so well, like a carnivorous plant seemingly innocent yet potentially lethal. Feeling unstoppable, with almost a swagger she turned on her heels and strode confidently towards the entrance of the club, from which she had departed, downhearted and defeated. Grace smiled as she heard the familiar rhythmic beat of her favourite song. It was perhaps a sign, an omen, and a way forward from her self-imprisonment. Without hesitating Grace laid a single, tingling hand upon the heavy oak doors, pushed them open with ease and marched back into the club. ...read more.

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