/lit/ - Literature

>write a personal note to a friend
>years, decade and century later that note still lives on, devoid of context but the message still heard
man

pic unrelated but where would one start with Ayn Rand?

/comfy prose/ - I'll start:

Meanwhile the wine glasses had flushed yellow and flushed crimson; had been emptied; had been filled. And thus by degrees was lit, halfway down the spine, which is the seat of the soul, not that hard little electic light which we call brilliance, as it pops in and out upon our lips, but the more profound, subtle and subterranean glow which is the rich yellow flame of rational intercourse. No need to hurry. No need to sparkle. No need to be anybody but oneslf. We are all going to heaven and Van Dyck is of the company - in other words, how good life seemed, how seet its rewards, how trivial this grudge or that grievance, how admirable friendship and the society of one's kind, as, lighting a good cigarette, one sank amog the cushions in the window-seat.

Hail
I may very well be retarded.
Could someone post me a link to download
Back Blast from Mark Greaney? its a book, fourth of The Gray Man novels..
I cant for the love of me find it anywhere, or iam just flatout autistic?

Recently wrote this in a flash fiction class. I've already workshopped it a bit, and the professor says it's good enough to win contests as-is, but I'm an anxious perfectionist, and I'd like to get some unbiased eyes on this before I send it off anywhere.

Title is Earthlight.

Imagine, if you will, being an astronaut on the moon. You land successfully, and carry out your experiments, but as you get ready to leave--something is wrong. Some unforseen problem, some error in mathematics. A series of tiny cracks in a perfect plan all leading to this one point in time: you, alone, stranded on the moon. The radio still works. You explain your situation to ground control, and the Earthmen scurry for a solution. Hours pass. The response comes plainly: there is nothing that can be done.

You spend most of your time by the radio. With careful rationing of oxygen, you have a couple days. Enough time for the government to fly your family down to the base in a private jet. To reminisce and say your goodbyes. To have a chat with a head of state--or two. They say you're gonna get a medal for this. Funny. A reporter wants to get a live interview for the 5 o'clock news, but you think that's a little tasteless. After some last few hours of chatting with your family and friends down at the base, you check your oxygen supply, and tell them that you're going out for a walk.

It's funny--you think under the glow of Earthlight--the way you move in this suit, it's a little like skipping. A little like dancing.

>>5978131

>>5829099
Yes, I did. Kind of a funny/cute one. She loved it. At least that's what she said.