Chapter 3: The Art of Rhetoric

Life seems to be getting harder. I don’t know why, but although NaNoWriMo was supposed to be fun, it’s giving me stress and pressure I haven’t felt since I left the army. Especially now that I’m trying to do my website as well, this writing is quite labourous.

In a way though, this difficulty is good. A goal that can be achieved without effort is a goal that is not worth any affort to achieve.

Reached 2950 words tonight.

As he drifted away on his reverie on Aristotle and his teachings on rhetoric, Rowena walked by him. He suddenly shot back into the real world, and stared at her as if she was a ghost. He followed her.

But he caught himself in the act of following her. He knew that there was something wrong with this scene: he wasn’t himself! But then again, perhaps he never was himself until now. Perhaps he was always a little crazy until the moment he started stalking this poor girl who hadn’t the faintest idea she was being followed.

“That idiot’s following me,” thought Rowena. She picked up her pace a little, but Dresden was not deterred. Then she had an idea: she would walk into the children’s section and see what Dresden did.

“Where’s she going?” thought Dresden, as he saw her walk into the children’s section. “Damn, I can’t go in there,” he lamented, knowing that if he went in it would have been conspicuous, and his game would be up. He thus gave up, and decided to just borrow his books and forget about this strange girl whom he had fallen in love with.

After she saw him leave, she waited a while to make sure the coast was clear. Then she walked out and checked again. No sign of the idiot, so she thought he must have left the library. “Good, he’s gone. The library’s no place for perverts.”

She headed for the poetry section while she thought about Dresden. “He was pretty cute.”

When she reached the poetry section, to her horror she saw that Dresden was there. She gasped. Dresden, hearing that gasp, jumped up, as his brain was in the alpha state, and that gasp brought on his fight or flight response.

“What the…?” he said to her, his fists half clenched. When he saw that it was her, his heart beat even faster, and he dropped the book he was holding.

“An Anthology of Love Poems?” Rowena said, as she saw the book he had dropped.

“What? You got a problem with that?” Dresden replied, still half in shock.

“No. You weird puss.” She said.

“And what are YOU doing here? Trying to be a weird puss too? You weird puss.”

“I’m here to see what a weird puss you are.”

“Well, that’s what you say. I say you’re here to be a weird puss. Anyone who’d come here just to see what a weird puss I am is a weird puss herself. And I’m talking about you you weird puss.” Dresden added, in a tone of voice quite threatening, and mean, perhaps a little more than he would have liked it to come out. But he was now starting to enjoy this conversation. He liked saying, “puss.” (“puss puss puss” he thought)

“Stop saying that. You don’t understand me.” Choked Rowena.

“Hey,” Dresden said, “I didn’t mean to call you a puss.” Dresden was wondering if those were tears in her eyes. He walked up to her and put a hand on her shoulder, and added, “but I can’t help it if you’re a weird puss.”

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