Alive, her life was perfect. In death, her life is mine.
He was a walking love story capable of passion that shined like a beacon for the lost. The lighthouse in my storm.
Love, because he was incapable of anything else. Story, because he was like make believe to me.
When she died, she left her empty shell of a life behind for anyone to take. Her perfect love story was adrift just waiting for someone brave enough to grab it. And that someone was me.
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Logan Keys says she’s not so much a writer as she is a soothsayer and preparer for those who are still blissfully unaware. Her stories aren’t dystopian but rather a warning for the next generation. When she’s not writing zombies, vampires, superheroes, and robots, she’s fighting against government over-reach and oligarchy using military tactics mixed with a little bit of poetry.
Logan’s currently on her little farm in Kentucky typing away on many projects at once.
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"You see, that day there on the beach, I was contemplating wiping the slate clean. Starting fresh. Cutting out on my own life. I wasn’t sure what that meant, and dark things came to mind, but then I saw you, Story, and your girl. That’s right, you had a girl. Like how I have a dog, she wasn’t anyone but Story’s girl to everyone with eyes. You speak, and girl listens. You swim out to catch a wave, and girl watches. I know what you’re thinking, Story, that I’m like her. But you see, I’m not. Not at all. Because I’m no one’s girl. And that’s a fact."