PROLOUGE
Hi, I'm not too sure about this whole writing thing, to be honest with you. Let's get that straight from the off- I have never written more than about 500 words in my life, let alone more than 500 word about my life. As my life is kinda fucked up, I thought I'd do this account in an also fucked up way. Kinda reflective, don't you think? That's why I thought I decide I'd start here and now at the beginning of the end. Yep, you got it, I'm starting this narrative not at the start, but further along down the lone, the part just before the end but not quite there, where there are still a few things left to happen before that's it- end of – moment. Still with me?
Okay, so here I am, sitting here in this darkened room in this warehouse. One of those old, abandoned and lonely kinda warehouses. At the moment I'm in an office with just a torch, my diary, a pen and paper, and a bottle of Smirnoff (yeah I know I'm too young) keeping me company on this night, as they say, to end all nights. I come here often to reflect when I really am feeling incredibly shitty and at my lowest ebb (and believe me I have been here a lot over the past few months). And tonight, being one of those shitty nights, I'm here again. But this time I've had a crazy thought (probably alcohol induced), what if I write down what's being going on in my life recently, try and come to terms with what it all means and shit. And I've also got this mate, well really he's my dad's mate, but anyway (why the fuck do I keep rambling?) he says that if I wrote a really good book then he would try and get it published. I mean my life's not a thrilling blockbuster, but it's full of human tragedy, which the masses adore, so it'll probably sell millions! Although to be honest, my writing style will let the overall book down, so it probably won't do that well, but I'll have a legacy, you know, something to remember me by, so one day in the future someone will pick this ancient book up, look at the cover and see my name, when everyone else has forgotten about me, that person will know about me.
But in all this mucked up work of literature, you the reader has been left out in the dark at this point, haven't you? You're probably wondering why am I sitting in the warehouse, why am I writing this thing (this diary I suppose, of sorts)? Well, to be honest with you, I'd rather not be writing about this in the first place. That is to say I wish the things that I am writing about had never happened. But oh well, that's life for you, eh?
It would make sense to start with the beginning, moving on through the various events so we slowly make our way to the end. But with my story, I start with the beginning, hit a dramatic climax and ride a roller-coaster of exciting events to a dramatic finale. I wish.
