OOC now I wrote this a while ago, and was rereading and reediting it... please don't rip it to shreds but CC is VERY welcome.

BIC

It's the beginning to my new novel... I still don't have a plot though.... I really badly need help.


If San Francisco is a woman sitting on a billboard red lips and long tan legs that resemble a horses or a leather saddle, and still thought beautiful.

If San Francisco is a place where fairies frolic in back yards, and coexist with the populace of the city, basking in the warmth and dancing in the sun light. And it’s sister city Los Angles is where the angels go after their initial and magical fall from grace, along with those with stars in there eyes, both cities must truly be a magical place.


If San Francisco is the place of magic and light than New York is the city of pulsing strength and a dark underbelly. Even the humans have created a world of darkness beneath the shelter of the buildings. Ground Zero is a place where angels resurrect from the black city into the light and Gods good graces. The business owners are vampires, leeching off of the poor and hiding behind the shadows of the tall buildings and in the under belly of the city. It is the shattered reflection of San Francisco.


Werewolves stay in London, mermaids in Florida, and tall tales and folk heroes, in Texas. Even the ghost of Al Capone doesn’t haunt Chicago’s empty streets.


The winds in the Windy City would blow any angel or fairy away, taking them out of the lake and dropping them there with the corpses of those lost and the legend of the onions. The name isn’t flattering, it means Place of Bad Smell in a forgotten Native language. Speakeasies, booze and Jazz are part of it’s legacy, but there is nothing magical about the capital of the Midwest, and the former tallest building in the world. Even the luster of the sun’s reflection of the black towers has lost it’s effect on even the dreamiest of tourists.


Or so it would seem…

Even in the dreariest of places, magic lives, oh how it lives.


In every other city, everyone stands behind a sheet of glass, only touching another person when they crash into one another, shattering the glass.


In the unmagiacal city, were angels don’t sit on the roof tops watching the inhabitances of the city, where humans are human and no fairy walks the street dressed as a bum, waiting to see if there is still goodness in mankind.


There is a pit where the magic should be, the humans notice it, feeling for it, trying to fill it with the art and the beauty of the lake, that mimics the ocean, though it doesn’t smell of salt and seriens don’t live there, waiting to lure the fishermen who go after salmon in the fall.


In this city, it is up to the humans to make the magic...

And oh, how they do.