Writing Day: March 19 -Fluidity

This may be a bit premature… but what I’ve decided to do (in leu of actually having to choose a topic for myself) is combine the two pieces of writing I did on March 3 and March 7 into one story. And to make following this a little easier than it is now, I’m going to create a separate tag for this story ‘Fluidity’, and mark each viewpoint under a separate sub-tag. But in the meantime, enjoy! I’m thinking this could work sort of similar to Kate Moss except without the historical portion of this.

Sleepless night and too many coffee cups discard to cold impersonal trash cans in bus and train stations; it wasn’t glamorous at all – Susan miserably reflected. It had only been two days since she had left her comfortable home in Boston and hit the road to the unknown museum and researcher of Graz in Austria, and loath to admit it – she was exhausted. To avoid the incessant questions and inquiries about her next location, she had fibbed her way out of work for two weeks.

A dead relative in the uncommon Vosges Mountains, to which Louis had immediately offered to buy her ticket for.

Nice as that was, it meant she had to use unconventional methods of travel to get to Austria. Experience wasn’t the problem here, it was that she had to take all forms of travel that took cash. The final leg of her journey was going to be a long and unpleasant drive with a man looking for someone to buy gas for the southern trail.

The book had become heavier as they had traveled, Susan frowned, it almost seemed like the retched thing didn’t want to return to Europe. Though she couldn’t possibly imagined why. According to her friend, Gavin, the book had only set foot in America recently and when he had innocently asked where: her instinct kicked in, and she sweetly plucked the book from his fingertips, waving away their questions.

“If you’re looking to sell that thing on the black market, you won’t be able to. It’s too valuable” he called after her, as she grabbed her coat,

“Who said I’m looking to?” she retorted and before he could illuminate her on the situation – stalked out into the heavy rain.

Looking back, that might not have been the best solution. The research she had been able to conduct on her own had led her to Graz on the strange feeling that the book matched another item they had in their possession: a spear of some sort, but what was covered in the same black soot and fingerprints that her item had.

Her wait at the bus station lengthened, but before long, a man looking strikingly similar to his online profile picture pulled up and mumbled,

“Which one of you is Susan?”

Rolling her eyes at the incompetence, she stood and waved him over, wincing only as he smiled with about half of his original teeth in his mouth. They drove in silence for a while, Susan pretending to sleep after telling him to wake her at the next gas station while he stared steadily on into the night.

The vibes were not looking good. The man seemed to be heading south, but who was Susan to know as the inky blackness settled in around the car and between her eyelids – all she could see was the headlights beams as the flicked in and out of existence. But the sense that she really needed to get to Graz as soon as possible stopped her from opening her eyes and demanding to be let out of the car.

What sort of book demands this kind of travel and effort?

This one will, Susan answered herself internally. Her sense about these things were never wrong, and although she was questioning her own journey wholeheartedly, why hadn’t she told anyone where she was going? Perhaps Gavin knew, but she couldn’t be sure that he was entirely on her side in this.

Deciding that it was worth the effort, she suddenly opened her eyes and sat rightways up and opening up a notebook, smoothing out the pages and began to write,

Dear Gavin,

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