Emily had always been the type of woman who overreacted. It had been the death of her. She recieved a call from her husband about her son getting stitches. He had taken a spill during soccer.

On her way to the hospital, speeding like a mad woman, she careened into a vehicle that made a quick decision to turn in front of her. The last sound she remembered from earth was that of her screeching breaks before she was killed on impact.

Besides watching her son and husband from up above, the only thing Emily enjoyed doing was putting words to paper. She wrote with a quill that had taken her quite a while to get used to; but she enjoyed the romance of it.

After her rejection by the author she most adored, Emily flew from his office and dove downward. She had no idea what way she was headed, but an eventual idea of where she would end up. After falling for a while to let off some steam, Emily landed softly in front of a filing cabinet.

She reached in and shredded the first handful of poems she touched.