Perpetual Darkness, Perpetual Spring

By Janna Hill

Perpetual Darkness & Spring

Perpetual Darkness is told from the man's perspective; this is his side of the story. Max Hubbard is a drifter and like most transients he prefers living a life of anonymity. That is until he lays eyes on Abigail. "He merely followed his instinct, not giving any thought as to why he watched her."
Perpetual Spring is told from the woman's point of view; this is her side of the story. After being forced into early retirement Abigail leaves Missouri and settles in the quiet countryside of La Grange. It's in this sleepy landscape she finds herself strangely attracted to the man who is watching her. "Some might consider him a stalker but she preferred to think of him as a guardian of sorts."
Is this another Romeo and Juliet? No, but a tragic romance nonetheless

• Language: English
• Publisher: J Hill Ink
• Release date: Apr 14, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386509776

Janna Hill

Janna Hill is an international author of fiction, short stories and poetry. She currently resides somewhere between the palm trees and pines and a forest in Texas. Her motto is: Fans are just friends and family I haven’t met… or wrote about yet. She has also been heard to say, home is where the blog is. You can follow her at home@ www.therealjannahill.com

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Copyright © 2015 Janna Hill All rights reserved.

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All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

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Table of contents

Copyright

Perpetual Darkness (His Side of the Story)

Perpetual Spring (Her Side of the Story)

About the author

Perpetual Darkness

(His Side of the Story)

The night was dark .... That’s how all of her stories began. As if the night was ever anything but. A more creative approach might have been a different start or at least a more beseeching entrance to the narrative. And why must it always be night? Why must it always be dark? Suppose she stretched the infinite boundaries of the night and found it lit with glistening stars. No, not glimmering or shimmering – these stars would be glistening like morning dew... like drops against a sunny window... like a single bead of sweat against a million glossy pores... opening and erupting, or even a rainbow tinged tear. Anything other than the night was dark.

That phrase is really testing my tolerance. I want to interrupt her, to offer a little creative criticism, but I’m not a writer. Writers have to have characters living within their thoughts – my characters are all dead.

Sometimes I attempt to force her imagination, by sheer will I implore her to expand her thoughts – for instance,