Aeropro

Best of luck to you. You have the right attitude... don't be discouraged once you've hit a week or so. There are going to be times when you truly WANT to reach out even if you don't right now. I am currently on day #25 and while the urge to contact is gone, there is still the occasional sense of anxiousness since she hasn't reached out yet (week #4 is said to be the toughest since, if the ex doesn't reach out, all hope seems lost, etc). No worries - keep at it.

Hey guys! I have recently gone through a heart-breakingly sudden break-up and have decided to divert my attention to something I can control - myself and my goals. I am writing a novel/working on a project that I has been in production for nearly a year and a half now. I had since paused my working on it due to stress with my relationship/work, but have recently found the motivation to start again! If you're a fan of Stephen King/Tim Burton then my story will be right up your alley (think Sleepy Hollow)! Please give me your honest feedback! Thanks, guys! =) Prologue The echoing ring of silence came to an end, suddenly, as the horses began clacking their hooves with heightened determination. The whispering darkness became increasingly overwhelming as the moonlight, while ever persistent, struggled to penetrate the impossibly thick fog. The animals of the forest; the bats and doves, squirrels and muskrats, deer and moose, scurried away in fear as the men yelled to one another for guidance. Paths became bends, forks became paths, and bends became dead ends. The unusual, eerie atmosphere began eating away at the men’s confidence like termites feeding on a hollowed log. “Shouldn’t we hear them? Shouldn’t they hear us?” whispered one of the men, a once brave man now turned coward. As they attempted to navigate through the haunting, spiraling maze of trees and brush, a slight beacon of hope could be heard, faintly, through the sound of the stream’s rushing current. North; they were heading north. A small opening through the trees allowed the men to pass through, in pairs of two, into the curved streambed. There was a brief moment where the moonlight finally burst through, revealing the blackened substance that had polluted the river. The leader of the battalion, a tall, portly man named William, was the first to notice the bodies; “Who could do such a thing? We’ll have the head of the bastard who did this! Don’t let the horses drink! We’ll have to give them some of our own!” he exclaimed. The plagued water splashing against the jagged, aged rocks, nonetheless, created a beautifully calming melody as the horses leaped from stone to stone, trying to retain their rapidly fleeing stamina. The river, serving as a faithful guide, continued to lead the men northward, the reflection of the night sky dancing on its surface, illuminating what was once dark in the forest. The trees held a frightened appearance as if they, too, were trying to flee from the escalating madness that was taking place in the Western Woods. “There! Do you see them? Do you see them over there?!” William rhetorically questioned. The watchmen began to grow sickeningly aware of their situation as more and more yellowed glares revealed themselves through the blackened nothing that awaited them on the horizon. Their thumping hearts could be heard as the eyes, each holding a stare of hopelessness, grew larger and larger as the horses fearlessly stormed on. A brief perforation in the woods divided the battalion into two groups as they began scaling muddy slope after muddy slope, the mares desperately struggling to keep their footing as if their legs were wobbling stilts. Time seemed to crawl as the two squadrons finally reached the top of the incline; rest at last. Though the marsh proved to be a difficult climb, few men fell, and those who did were able to remount with esteemed pace, as if the ground was built upon springs. The brief pause in their campaign allowed the horses to quench their thirsts, a reward that was long over-due. The men, too, were rewarded, with a brief sense of relaxation, as they admired what used to be a beautiful landscape. It was not an appropriate time to reflect on their surroundings, however, as time was of the essence. They had to save as many of them as possible. The wind, once violently unpredictable, stood expectedly still, its roar shrinking to nothing more than a puppy’s growl, as they raced into the northern farmlands. The farms were vacant, their once green and golden crops being reduced to nothing more than grayed, ruined waste. The stench of death grew stronger as swarms upon swarms of flies began hovering above the rotten vegetation, feeding on their last ounces of existence as if to cruelly parallel what was occurring to the people of the forest. The only sign of life stood ragged through the fog in the form of a withered log-cabin. A dull glow swayed softly in the air, a lamp, in front of the structure, although its flame was stumbling for stability in the cool breeze. Its dancing, faded, light revealed a series of locks which secured the small cabin from intruders, ironic given there was no one left who would intrude. A quick shake was all it took to pry the door open as a cloud of old dust filled the doorway. Years of carelessness and neglect could vaguely be seen on the walls, through the thick dust, as the first few men made their first steps inside. However, before they could fully enter, a sudden cry of terror from the southeast halted their push forward. The signal came from the youngest of the group, a new recruit named Thomas, who had the misfortune of riding the battalion’s plumpest and slowest steed. His echoing cry was as true as the steel on his spurs when his eyes met one of theirs through the naked autumn trees; “NO! Why on earth is this happening?! What is wrong with her?!” he continued to cry. His fear stemmed not from his inexperience, but from an utter sense of disbelief as the thin, gloomy figure inched closer to him. The young girl, standing no taller than three feet, innocently smiled at him as her dull blonde hair fell over her white, colorless face. Her eyes had a lovely shape, though what color remained had been overwhelmed by a pale, gray yellowing hew, reminiscent of a crescent moon hiding behind storm clouds. Thomas could begin to feel the hairs on his spine standing on end as he struggled to make the right choice. His first instinct was to pick the girl up in his arms and rush her safely home back to her mother, while his second instinct was to reach for his rifle. “What is wrong with her? What in God’s name is happening?!” Thomas thought, his mind overwhelmed with emotion. A sudden ruffling of leaves was all it took to influence his decision. In a flash of instinct and uncertainty, the young girl was knocked into the air and, falling ever so delicately like a feather from the sky, into the cold, blackened river. Blood and adrenaline began to fill Thomas’ heart as he began realizing what he had done. His cry of regret filled the air, “Oh, no! What have I done?! Someone, please help! She is going to die!” The young recruit was faced with yet another fateful choice; to stand and do nothing, or plunge into the plagued water to save the child’s slowly fading life. Before he could decide the fate of the girl, a seasoned patrol named Edward came rushing to his aid, carrying a musket the size of an ore and riding on a glowing white stallion. His horse, named Marshmallow, danced through the thicket in a hypnotizing display of perfected acrobatics, its brilliantly white color emitting more light than even the stars themselves. A sense of urgency filled Edward as Marshmallow leaped logs, ducked under low-hanging branches, and tore through shrubs and bushes that tried to swallow the courageous duo. ---------- I have about twenty pages thus far, but I haven't edited through the rest quite yet!

Day #19 starts today. I miss what she represented in my life, but I don't really miss her anymore.

Day 17 coming to a close. I feel the spark of 'me' coming back.

76 days! Good job. Day #16 today. Almost to #21 (3 weeks)... almost to #30.

Day #9 Today I am indifferent. I'm just tired of everything with regards to her and while I accept the fact that we're over, I am exhausted from being upset about it. I'm exhausted at thinking of what will happen next. I feel that I am just waiting for her to make some sort of move (though I do other things in my spare time) and I understand that I need to control my thoughts better. I don't feel like dating. I don't feel like talking to the other women available to me. I feel like isolating myself and healing.

Day #8 I cried last night but it helped. I hadn't cried since my birthday and I don't know why the urge hit me like it did. I miss the good things, I guess. I miss sleeping next to her. However, the bad memories are storming into my mind more and more. I miss the good qualities she had, but they were just a mirage. She was always, ultimately, a selfish and manipulative person. Her "good side" wasn't real.

Day #7 Feeling content. Feeling like everything will work out as it is supposed to.

Yesterday was the first day we didn't contact one another since we started the "pre-dating" texts back in 2012. Your selfishness is the cause of this - nothing else.

You're selfish and a self-centered liar. Why was I so blind to this? Everything was always about you from day #1. You never really cared about me and I am done being your doormat. I hope you always look at me as the one who got away, because I am going to find someone who appreciates me for everything that I am.