The instructions were clear, Jasper was not to write anymore until he thoroughly read the texts of acceptable writings. His fingers we poised above the keys, sweat ran down his brow and he felt a slight trembling in his legs as he pondered the heresy. Did he dare to ignore the texts, did he dare to take the chance of writing write something differently?
Seeking wisdom he considered the prophets but found himself cramped, confined within the walls they dictated, instead he sat back in his chair, leaned his head to the side and watched as outside of his window the leaves fell from the trees. One by one the red, yellow, brown and green leaves trickled from the sky and all Jasper could do was watch.
That was all Jasper could ever do was watch and then write. He supposed it was the falling leaves, they way they spun in the air, the colors flashing in the light. It seemed that with just the slightest breeze he'd watch the leaves and then it would start.
She was not someone Jasper would consider beautiful, attractive perhaps, in an earthy way. Her hair was very dark and curly, often unkempt. Her face, while delicate, showed a lot of facial hair along her cheeks, heavier above her upper lips and very bushy in her single black eyebrow.
