Chernarus, Североград Окраина - 17:57 PM
Francis would be sitting in a wooden chair inside a secluded house in the middle of the forest. The book that the little girl gave him was left open over the table in front of him, and he would be handling the pen, spinning it trough his fingers, thinking about what to write. Suddenly, raindrops started falling down, and a cool breeze would enter trough a small gap on the closed window. Inspiration was not something that random for Francis, even though he was a creative man.
After some minutes, while eating a small portion of tuna in a can, he started writing some stuff that happened within the same day, as the past ones were not that exciting.
As Francis finished writing, he had also finished his tuna can, and the moon was rising up in the sky. It was already time to have some sleep, as he couldn't really keep his eyes open anymore. He went to the make-shift bed that he mounted inside the house and laid over it, closing his eyes.