Classically, I was in my room when I heard of the death of Rory Langely. I was not very close to her, but I felt for her deeply. I felt almost dead to the world now, as I had limited human interactions to the bare minimum. I spent most of my time in my room, reading. These stories that I found on paper did far less damage to a soul than the unpredictable nature of the real world. I loved the comforts that fiction afforded me. As I pored over the dystopian literature of the 20th Century, I felt that even these environments may be favorable to the present world. It seems anyway that our society has taken on some of these dystopian aspects- such as a conforming and non-questioning population and inexplicable bouts of severe weather among other phenomena.
At least, I thought, she had been buried in the waters of the Rainbow River. It is the only part of this town that is vibrant with color; the rest of town is a husk of something that was. Hopefully the death of Rory will galvanize this town's people to do something inspirational. I should definitely get off my ass and so something for the greater good instead of fascinating over love and literature.