The Prologue's Prelude
She writes at night,
where darkness hides her affinity for words.
Ink bleeds to the pages
making feeling real.
Night after night,
Story after story
her work comes together
until one night she picks up the completed
Philosophy of the Dark.
[sentence pending depending on the title]
***
Prologue-at last
I write this, not intended to be a recollection of my seventeen years, nor a reiteration of just another coming of age story. Instead, I write this to you, my beloved reader, hoping (and most likely in vain) that you may find some solace in my words.
***
Thats how her story begins, as an average girls quest to impact the world, or at least impact herself in the process. Neither of which can be accomplished at this point. No two sentences can change a life, so they tell her, only she knows better. She knows how even simple words can embed themselves in one's mind and stay there forever.
Chapter 1- On Both accounts
It's more than just a story to me, books are real, character are only fiction to those who don't know the magic or words. After all, if writing can have a soul, then why cant it's characters? I asked this in class once.
Keyword- Once. I never questioned an English teachers logic again. I suggest you do the same.
Now, on the topic of English, it's never been my favorite class, nor my best. Even though I had a certain gravitational pull towards words, and meanings and such. But still, I never excelled, maybe that wasn't my fault. Then again, maybe it was.
Over the years, words have grown more meaning to me than could be found in a dictionary. And so came to me the world of writing.
It was a small world at first, nothing but floating atoms in a big empty space, a mere inclination to pick up a pen and fill up those empty blue lines.
Soon the atoms started to cram together, gathering pressure, energy, until one day it exploded. And my world began.
Much like writing a story or book, I imagine, there's an explosion, an idea, and it's up to you to put the pen to paper and give it life. Maybe someday I'll join you, give life to the barren universe with colors, descriptions. But not yet.
After all, this is just the beginning.
***
It's a queer way she tells her story, even weirder is the way she talks about herself, in idea's and beliefs, beginnings and ends. But that's all she really knows.
Her name-as is never said by herself- is Jamie. Last name, not important.
While having attended the same school since she was six, she still lacks something that makes people social butterfly's.
The first of her actual friends is Amber, who was more or less the same as Jamie, in appearance and on occasion, attitude. They could be sisters for all anyone knew. They weren't, Amber was an only child. So was Jamie.
When Jamie wasn't lost in her universe, locked in her dark room writing, and Amber wasn't babysitting the neighbors kids they would hang out. It often went something like this:
The phone rang, Jamie was the only one home. Her mother was at work, and her father at his fourth wedding.
She should have been writing, but words abandoned her today, she had no insight on the world.
So she ended the insistent ringing.
“Hello?” she said quietly.
“Hey Jamie,” The voice came out of the phone loudly.
“Amber, what's up?” Jamie asked.
“Not much actually, Some of us were just wondering if you wanted to hang out today,” she said.
Jamie's eyes found the clock, it was only four.
“Who with?” she asked.
“Just like, Jordan, Nat, Chris, you and me.”
The 'You and Me' statement had been unneccesary, Jamie noticed. She pulled a pen out of her pocket and took an old napkin off of the coffee table to write on.
“You and me,” It said.
“Yeah, sure, I guess I can go,” Jamie said, shoving the pen back into her pocket.
“Cool, meet us at the spot as soon as you can. Nat and Chris are already there, I'll be leaving as soon as I change.” Amber hung up.
Jamie put the phone back on it's charger and pulled the pen back out of her pocket to write one more word on the napkin.
“Goodbye?”
)
I like it. I second Sam's comments - she covered most of what I noticed. So far, the first person seems quite detached from the speaking character, but I suppose this is only the first section, and I expect that will change in later sections.
I'm simply putting all this out there for you to think about. Do you want your story to grab the reader and command them to read, or lull them in lightly with an unusual style?
