Kris was just an everyday person; 22 years old, born in Guangzhou, Guangdong, China on November 6, 1990, and used to be a Canadian citizen. He was Chinese, but sometimes he was mistaken to be Korean. He occasionally wore black rimmed glasses instead of his usual contacts. He was a journalist whom had recently moved to New York after he struck a writing job with the New York Times. He was quiet and kept to himself, only expressing important thoughts in his old journal that he carried everywhere. He lived in a small, rented apartment that he was saving up to buy. He couldn’t afford a car yet, so he took taxis everywhere he went, which didn’t really help his savings. He didn’t associate with many people, and most people didn’t want to be around him for long periods of time due to his usual cold exterior. Almost everyone Kris met always thought he was in a bad mood, or something had happened to make him seem so down, but that was just him. He didn’t like showing his emotions to anyone.

                What most people didn’t know about Kris though, was his crave for inspiration. He could convert nearly anything he experienced into an artistic vision of which he would write or draw down in his journal. It stimulated him, and when he came across something that inspired him greatly, only then would people start to see a change in his emotional state.

                Kris sighed as his wandering thoughts and tapped his pen on the blank page, watching the steam from his coffee rise and swirl against the dim interior of the café. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was getting late already, 4:00 PM. It was Monday, he noted. He had to have a story finished by Wednesday to deliver by Thursday morning. But Kris had stumbled upon a problem in writing his assignment this time around. The theme was love. Kris had never fallen in love, and didn’t understand any type of love but the type between family members. They wanted a romance theme because they had covered murder story for the cover page, and they wanted to get people’s minds off of it with a little warm, uplifting topic. It was winter after all, and the first snow was expected any day now. Kris picked up his coffee slowly, blowing on it a bit before taking a sip. He smiled just a little bit at the comfortable warmth of the sweetened coffee, before setting it down and picking up his pen again.

October 29, 2012                                          

       What is love? Is it merely a feeling? I’ve never been interested in experiencing love, but it seems I must attempt to understand at the very least in order to write my article…

                Kris let out a deep sigh and closed his journal, finishing up his coffee before paying the cashier a little bit extra since he had stayed so long, and walked outside into the cold winter air. He shivered a bit and pulled his blue scarf closer to his neck, clutching his journal and pen in one hand and shoving the other deep into his lined coat pocket. Cars sped along the road to his right as he walked, creating a fog in the air and on his glasses.

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I'm so sorry that inspiration for this story died ; _ ;