A/N- This will be a Rory/Tristan fanfic eventually... This first chapter is just a preview type deal. More will come soon as long as doesn't fail again....Enjoy.
A blank page, an empty canvas, waiting to be filled. She watched the cursor blink tauntingly on the empty word document, speaking volumes about the mental block that prevented words from organizing themselves into sentences, traveling out her fingers, and pushing the buttons of the keyboard. It blinked just off beat of the music that she was listening to, just off enough to drive her slowly crazy with every agonizing blink. She had sat down and put on just the right music to influence her creativity in a positive way, lit some candles all around her work station, and had been planning what she would write days prior. All of her preparation did not, however, get her ready for the complete absence of words and emotion that would rear its ugly head as soon as she sat down to put them on paper.
She leaned back and sighed deeply as she gazed over at the photographs that surrounded her. Pictures of her boyfriend, family, and pictures of the very past that she was trying to depict. Reaching over, she grabbed a one of the frames and stared at the pictures within. It was a collage made by her best friend in the world, filled with pictures of the two of them growing up. She stared intently at it, willing the familiar emotions to arise. With another sigh she gave up on waiting for inspiration to strike and began to type. Words burst forth in a seemingly chaotic and haphazard form, without any conscious effort what-so-ever.
She began not at the beginning, as most would assume, but rather in the middle of the story she wanted to tell. She began her tale where her emotions were strongest and most memorable. A girl sitting in the middle of the backseat in her parents' car, squished in between two of her friends, staring blankly ahead as the radio played in the background. No one spoke, the world eerily silent compared to the noise of everything else that day. The people were quiet; the car almost noiseless as it glided across the smooth pavement, not a tree branch shook from wind. Everything was calm, still, and silent, but the radio played on. It made a mockery of the somber occasion by playing obnoxious pop music, interrupting thought and disturbing the mood. The irony was lost on no one in the car as "Bad Day" by Daniel Powter played. The passengers ignored the bitter irony and continued their silent stare, each lost in thoughts too dark and fresh to be shared.