Sweet Charity

In every work of fiction, there's a tiny grain of truth. I read that soomewhere. Or I made it up because I want so desparately to believe it might be true. I've spent my entire life reading every book I could find; from werewolves to fairies to non-fiction works. Not only was it a chance to let my imagination run wild with the possibilities, but I saw it as a learning experience. I felt like I was learning about the supernatural world in a sense. I loved Literature class in middle school. It was mind-blowing to pick apart works of literature from long ago. Works that stuck out in my mind. I wanted to know what the authors were feeling at certain passages. Did the parts that made me cry make the author cry? Did they write that way on purpose? My mind gobbled up Of Mice & Men, Tom Sawyer, The Diary of Anne Frank, and so many other books. It was the books I read in my after school hours that had me believing in the other possibilities life could show. I read everything I could find about werewolves, vampires, fairies, and shapeshifters. The supernatural engrossed me; intrigued me. This is what I wanted to believe was real.