Lionheart looked out over the town. There was movement among the many homes. It was lively. He turned toward the entry point. People were moving in. Many arrived together. There were Booksians waiting at the front gate. A few new people met up with friends, while others wandered in, in search of their place in the alphabetical order of houses.

 The view over the main exhibition building and the filling houses brought memories. It brought memories of the beginning.

                                                            ***

 Walking through the front gates was awkward. Lionheart was full of excitement and anxiety. He heard of this place from a friend. The idea of an estate based solely for writers intrigued him. He carried only a pencil with him. He had no pre-written work, so he must have looked like a visitor.

 The entire town seemed desolate. A few people walked here and there, but there was no real life. Everything moved slowly.

 He tried to walk proudly toward his group letter, L. He wanted to make a good first impression. He had never written anything he wasn’t forced to do. He had no qualifications and no experience with other writers. All he could think of was what others would think of him. He wondered how he should write and what he should write about. He had no real idea of what to do. He had never written anything before.

 The application process was easy. After a few hours he could already move into his place. His home would have the name ‘Lionheart’ printed on the front.

 He observed the others around him. Through the wide windows of peoples’ homes he could see some posting up work onto their walls. Some houses were quite colorful with all the work placed up. Other homes had a few pieces posted.

 He stopped at a house in the group W. He walked up the path and through the doorway. The inside was plain with a few pieces posted up on the main back wall. Slowly he walked up to the wall to read a piece. It was beautiful. He looked at the one beside it, and really liked what he read. Underneath the pieces he noticed small boxes hanging on the wall. They had a hole on top so you could place a message for the writer. He reached into the hole and read a few. Others liked the pieces too. Lionheart took out his pencil and wrote a message for the reader. After placing it he turned his attention toward a board placed beside the front door. There were Pen names, and some were accompanied by pictures. They were fans of the writer. There was a box below it with no messages inside. He figured it was for requests. As he took a note out, he noticed something on the board. He looked carefully at the words on a plaque. This writer had been there for almost a year. There were only a few pieces. He looked at the photograph beside the plaque at a girl. The Pen name on top said “Whitwall”. A cold breeze blew in brown leaves into the house. He walked back to the pieces on the wall and looked at the dates of creation. They dated a long time ago.

 Lionheart felt sadness. His heart felt uneasy. Shivers ran up his spine. It was abandoned. He sadly looked around at all the blank walls. After a while he made his way toward the fan box. He stared at the blank note for a while. After some thought he wrote:

“Hey,

 I read some of your work and I really like it. I noticed you haven’t written anything in a long time. Please, I hope you haven’t stopped writing. I really enjoyed it and it would be a shame if you never reply or write again…”

 He left the note with a picture of his Avatar and walked out feeling a bit discouraged. After a short walk he reached a large building. It was not like the homes he had seen. Someone was walking in, a young woman. He followed to see what the commotion was about. As he entered the building it opened up to a large hall. There were sections clearly labeling different attractions of Booksie.

 What stood out the most in the center of it all was a section labeled ‘Featured Writing’. Lionheart approached the board where there were pieces done by different people. There were boxes underneath the writings with a few messages inside. The date was only recent. It must have been good to have gotten such a response in such a small amount of time. Lionheart read a piece and couldn’t understand it. He read over it a few times and still couldn’t see what the poem was about. He looked around a bit embarrassed, he must have looked like an idiot staring at a poem for so long. There was only one person there. The woman turned from a piece to him and gave a warm smile. Lionheart smiled back awkwardly.

 After another try at the poem he decided to give up. He walked away feeling defeated. He saw a glimpse of what it took to have your writing featured. He had no ideas of what he would write about yet and he felt helpless when reading other work. After a long walk he finally reached a home with the Pen name ‘Lionheart’ on the front. He sighed and walked into the empty home. Every home was the same.

 He had his fan board, boxes and blank walls all ready to be used. He had nothing. He looked down at his pencil for a while. He found supplied paper and sat out the front of the house. He sat leaning against the outside of the house with a piece of paper and a pencil.

 How could he begin? He needed to write something that would make an impression on people who read. After sitting for a long time with an empty head he walked inside again and decided to post something up on his introductory board titled ‘Bio’. He didn’t know what to say that would interest anyone who would come in. It would have to be personal. It would have to be intelligent. It would have to be poetic in itself. He twirled his pencil in his hand and began to write:

“I am not a real writer… I am a real person.

 I am Lionheart, hear me roar…”

 Lionheart studied the words and was finally satisfied with what he had written. He decided to add to it later on. It was good enough for the time being. It was honest and brief.

 He took a piece of paper and began to write. He needed to begin his story. He needed to tell his story of life. He needed to tell his history in the world. The reader had to look deep into his mind and see that he had much to share and so little time. He began writing on what he knew about himself. He poured his emotion into it as well as all of his anxieties. There was a secret he needed to tell, but he would leave this piece as a prelude. He left a taste of what Lionheart was in the readers’ mouth. His twisted thoughts and tortured mind had to be portrayed. His sad past and sadder future needed to be told in story.

 Lionheart wrote quickly from the impulses of his mind. He didn’t need to think. This was what he was.

 After he was done he posted it up on the board straight away. He didn’t want to write professionally. He didn’t want to touch his work again, and decided that that should be the case for all of his future writings. After some attempts at posting his first piece on his board he finally got it up. It looked unremarkable, with a picture representing his prologue in relation to Squall Leonhart; his avatar.

 A summary had to be written. Lionheart didn’t think. What was there to say? He wrote the only summary his piece could have; “The only way to start my story…”

 After finishing he decided to add his technique onto his bio. He wrote: “…write in the moment” to sum up the element for his entire folio. He planned to stay true to it.

 He walked out of Booksie feeling a bit anxious at what else he could write. It was an experience writing his first piece.

 The following day Lionheart walked into his home and found a message in the box under his first piece. A man had written a note saying he gave it a ‘five’, which was the highest rating in the old system. Lionheart felt his heart twitch. He then walked over to his fan box and found a request by the same man. Lionheart smiled. When he replied to the letter he tried to sound as grateful as possible but he didn’t know what to say. He only begun to write and wasn’t sure how a simple ‘thank you’ would effect how he was seen among the other writers who read it. He wrote a simple ‘thank you’ after realizing that he couldn’t express emotion in his writing anyway.

 Lionheart had found a figure to look up to once he looked at the man’s profile. This man had been there for a while before Lionheart and had a strong fan base and had many pieces that appealed to the readers. Lionheart smiled again. He held a strong gratitude for the encouraging welcome he received from that writer.

 Lionheart fell into a stage of depression during his real life. He never received another comment on his first piece but it didn’t matter. He felt neglected and invisible so it didn’t matter to him whether or not anyone ever read his second piece.

 After a day he received a message. It was on his new piece. It had an empathetic tone. He felt comfort knowing some people actually care, even if they weren’t from his real life.

 Lionheart began to explore the town. He figured if anyone was reading his stuff he had to read others too. He walked around the houses looking for someone who had an interesting name. He wandered into a few houses but they were abandoned just like ‘Whitwall’. It was sad finding no signs of life among the houses. After a depressing journey he finally recognized a familiar name. It was his friend who had told him about the town. He walked in excited and found more than enough pieces to keep him busy for a while. He spent time reading and when he looked at his friends fans his attention was caught by the picture of a girl. She looked poetic and she had commented recently so Lionheart decided he might take advantage of an active Booksian.

 After reading some pieces he found he liked the work. He sent a fan request and after a few days it was happily accepted. He had found a new associate. ‘Erin’ returned the favor, letting everyone else know that we were now a couple of associating writers.

 Lionheart read and commented between small groups of writers he frequently visited. He had a few fans and it was slowly building.

 By looking at peoples work he also found other writers through comments. He searched their houses and would spend time reading work. After a while he would occasionally bump into his friends on the streets of Booksie. He saw the young girl a few times walking around, as well as some other writers who he saw were very active in the town.

 Lionheart intended his pieces to be serious and to embrace his existence. But after a while he learned that humor had to play a part in his story. He could not help it and so he searched for funny work among the writers. He stumbled upon a writer, ‘Kittycat’ who caught his attention.

 Lionheart had many laughs reading her work and soon they began to associate more and more. Lionheart met other writers through her and soon a large web of connections formed. He became aware of many writers. He learned that there were actually many writers that were active, although the abandoned homes were the majority.

 He wrote occasionally to certain writers but never took the step to become a fan. He was not frequent enough with them so he didn’t see it fit to give them a false sense of hope that he would continue to read his work. There were many of them after all.

 Time passed and Lionheart found himself spending much more time in Booksie. He would meet friends in the town and have many exchanges of encouragement. His fan base was small but he loved those who made it.

 One day Lionheart walked through the gates to see that the entire town had been changed. There were modifications in his house. Now he had a letter box on the front so that people could send messages without having to read each others work. He found it a bit confronting to think that it might break his habit of reading the work of others. He read the first message in his letter box. It was ‘Chika19’. She was so excited with a happy tone, as always. Lionheart smiled and congratulated her for being the first to send a message.

 Now that the new outdoor board was posted Lionheart could post ‘Featured Writing’ of his own to show as a first impression on readers. He placed the few that had good responses.

 Everyday he could see how many people had visited his home and how many had read his work on a notice board. Lionheart began to find that he received more visits with the new system. The ‘Booksie Guy’ had a notice in the main building informing all of the new changes. It was exciting for many and they instantly began to use it to their advantage.

 Lionheart now found himself replying to readers who occasionally wrote to him. Among them he discovered a familiar face. The new system where you could send letters had changed Booksie forever. It allowed all of the Booksians to communicate live. Upon a certain day Lionheart bumped into ‘Air’ who then became a fan. He discovered she was the first person he had seen in the main building on his first day there. A new bond was formed.

 Lionheart found himself finding friends on the streets. He would joke around with his humor partners. Lionheart would have encouraging talks with the young writers he had never met live before. It was beautiful talking to people who had made his entire experience more than a visit. It became a home. Lionheart often visited writers and was ecstatic to be able to finally talk to his friends. Ideas and habits were formed, and Lionheart began to write differently. He wrote to express his gratitude. New and old fans would continue reading his work and he found that his work became less and less popular in the ratings. It did not bother him though. He found the stronger relationships between other readers much more valuable.

 Lazing around the front yard of his house with a few friends they all stopped what they were doing when they noticed a few people walking over the hill at the front gate. More and more people began to come in. Lionheart was excited to find waves of new writers pouring into the town. It would expand everyone’s reach in their writing and it would prove an opportunity to find more talented writers to admire. A close group of Lionhearts’ fan base began to make it their goal to greet and welcome all new writers. They all had moved from other towns based on writing, but that didn’t mean they left the other towns completely.

 Lionheart had no idea how, but the new writers kept pouring in. He new that not one person was invited by him. Many were welcomed by the new writers even!

 He saw the masses march in with new talent and fresh ideas. Many posted a folio of works on their first day. They were real writers.

 Slowly Lionheart began to lose his place as a frequent writer on the ratings. He disappeared for weeks at a time and he couldn’t avoid the feeling of jealousy. He was something before and now felt like nothing. The masses never stopped and the town became like that in the real world. Many walked around talking to each other.

 Lionheart slowly began to lose contact with his friends. They were dispersed among the houses, reading new things.

 The amount of reads on Lionhearts’ folio jumped past the one hundred mark everyday. He wasn’t receiving responses though, less even then when he first started. His pride and joy, his novel, slipped away in the seas of new novels.

 There were many new writers making it into the ‘Featured Writing’ in the main building. Lionheart felt like a generation past. He believed his time was over.

 After a while of replying to new writers he found new people to talk to. He began to associate with new writers. Part of that was due to him never losing faith and staying true to his active status. There was a period of isolation but now many new writers flocked to read his work. Lionheart became swamped with writers who wanted him to read their work. He never knew where to begin.

 To relieve the new found stress he began to write a series of poems. Short stories faded in his folio as poetry became a quick way to make up time to read the work of others. He continued with his novel after new writers began to read. Lionheart had something new everyday. New writers found common interest with him and they applauded his work. He never thought it possible, but his work was reviving all by itself.

 With a new found motivation he contacted his old group of friends. They all had many new fans. Everyone was benefitting from their already solid folio’s. Lionheart was happy and tried to keep in contact with his friends.

 Some sadly disappeared as time went by. He never heard from some ever again but those who stayed became influential people in his life. He never gave up on his friends. He worked hard to fit time to read, comment, reply and accept. Occasionally he would send a message to see how others were doing.

 After experiencing a new generation of writers the original writers began to have similar experiences as Lionheart. They all began to write work dedicated to those old friends. They wrote stories including themselves in their own adventures. New writers enjoyed the writing of the old ones and soon the Booksie town became a Booksie city.

 Lionheart had a colorful folio now. He tried to include a picture with every piece. His way of speaking to friends changed as he felt more freely to be himself. The tightly bound friendship circle kept in good contact. Lionheart knew that even if his writing dies out in the standards of the new generation that his friends would be there for him. He would never be alone and for that he smiles every time he met up with friends or received a message from them.

 With a new found attitude Lionheart wrote better and soon had fans lining up to join his base. He was satisfied with his new found inspiration; the new generation. He tries to set an example, because he is now part of the last generation and he was already well known in some aspects.

 His insane writings about his friends and the conversations they have became contagious, with others wanting to join in. Lionheart willingly accepted new people for his crazy crew of friends and soon they set sail every chance they could, to keep friendships close and to keep the real world where it should be, outside.

                                                            ***

 Lionheart stared out over the hill. There was movement everywhere. He looked at his friends houses. He could spot them easily among the crowding houses. He smiled at what everything was and is.

 As he walked into his house he could only be happy to see at least a couple of people reading his work every time. Going about his usual routine he checked messages and caught up with old friends.

 As he walked out of his house he could only marvel at how his hometown had grown. Why had they come from other places? Who had showed them all the way? He would never know, but he knew for certain that this city would never fail now. It had a strong path ahead of it, and Lionheart was proud to be a part of what made the town what it was. He looked at the people around him and thought how oblivious they were to what was happening with every second of them being there. They were creating history. They were the generation to bring Booksie on a map.

 Lionheart stepped out onto the path. He closed his eyes as he looked up at the sky. This wasn’t a city. It was a home. A home where Lionheart found more than friendship, he had found life, without anyone knowing it. He could only hope the best for everyone, because eventually, like him, they would realize what Booksie is to them. He never gave up hope in himself, he never failed, because it was impossible. How could he? Everything he could want was there and he only continued to find more. He had lost friends and had gained more. He never made it to ‘Featured Writing’ but his writing had touched people, which was much more rewarding.

“I was not Lionheart before… I am now. And this is yet to be the start of my story… and hopefully yours too.” - Lionheart