She could smell the pages. She could almost taste the words as they stacked up around her.

The orange flames waved at the crowd as paper and print dissolved inside them. Burning words were torn from their sentences.

You're far from this. This story is just another few hundred pages of your mind.

Sometimes you read a book so special that you want to carry it around with you for months after you've finished just to stay near it.

The water crumbles on it's way down as my hands and feet push me forward. The world is lightening, taking shape, and turning to color. It feels like it's being painted around me.

You should know it yourself- a young man is still a boy, and a boy sometimes has the right to be stubborn.

The paper landed on the table, but the news was stapled to his chest. A tattoo.