I've edited previous posts, because I think they're an insane jumble of insanity.
And I want you to read this bit of what I wrote now, and tell me what you think. In fact, it's all I wrote of it. Just comment. Like we're in a club exchanging our writing.
In It All
Isn't it odd how most stories start with something odd? It could be almost imperceptible, but I think it's always strange, out of the ordinary. In this way I introduce a story that is strange, about a time that became strange, that likely does not exist.
Ailis was tapping the floor with her foot. Her eyes were simply glued to the piece of paper she was reading; just one, but with all sorts of strange symbols, she thought. The English alphabet seemed not to make sense any longer; the characters blurred, and when they weren't blurry, they didn't make sense. But Ailis didn't have anything else to do, so she continued to ponder the strange letters, the little squiggly lines between paragraphs, the odd straight line across the top and the bottom.
They didn't make sense. The words didn't make sense. She knew the words, but they didn't strike meaning in her mind.
Why? How could she think about the blurriness, and not see the words? Words formed in her mind, but the words on the page remained curves and sticks of dry ink.
Life was incomprehensible; the words of Ailis's thoughts became unreal, too. She couldn't understand them, but they kept flowing, flowing, flowing. The more she didn't understand them, somehow, the faster they came.
Ailis took her pencil from the side of her desk and wrote in the left margins, 'Incomprehensible.' It was the only word she understood, and she began not to understand it.--
By the way. The format's messed up. Many thanks to it.