Opening the door ,I stepped back in time and cringed.
Posters old and colourless tried hard to cling to walls .With peeling paint and poster glue fighting for supremacy against the cobwebs, a sense of desolation overcame me and I looked around in despair.
I heard sounds in the air, echoes from the past. Voices,
once raised on ficly pages were now pushing me forward to make amends and to return Ficly to its previous exalted stance amidst the writing forums on the net.
Elsha is here and I catch a glimpse of Tad talking to the dead poet society chief. The silver pen of Eloquent Mess slides and stops accusingly in front of me, where is al and Kevin? Oh I see they are trying to get the writing on the wall so there are pathways for those who may follow.
Is it too late to resurrect the camaraderie that once was Ficly?