I can't think of a good way to start a story.

my hands typing involuntarily, I would be at wits end. It has been four months since my hands had minds of their own. I first noticed it when

I was composing a particularly decent folding story. Suddenly, my hands stopped typing the words I wanted in the middle of the

fold.Time seemed to stand still as a creative muse entered the crenulatoins of my cortex. Something better was coming, I could tell. And then there was a flash as 0:00 remaining to

my eyes. I watched it 3000000000000009264 times before I saw the true meaning of the flash. So I thought. I believed this whole time that flash was

a sign of my altered future. That flash, as I saw it 30000009264 times, showed me glimpses into my future, that was completely different than my present. I felt

nostalgia for a time that hadn't yet come. Remember 30 years from now when I won local derby? Gosh, it will be the pinnacle of a life I can't live. We're all swimming in this lost

Sea of confusion. My horse was destined to be famous, I am sure. Plotinus was of unusual colour and definitely could take me wherever I needed to go. The library was the next place

I stopped at on my tour of the Universe and all the other places on my amazing horse. Amazing hours were spent in the Library of Manuel de Barcelona y que. My horse, Plotinus, was

long overdue to be re-shod. He chose two pair of neon green party pumps with six inch heels. I tried to talk him out of them, but his heart was set on them. Plotinus was plotzed.