PROLOUGE
Hi, I'm not too sure about this whole writing thing to be honest with you. Let's get that straight from the start- That sounds awkward. Instead say, "straight from the start" I have never written more than about 500 words in my life, let alone more than 500 words 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 decided I'd start here at the beginning of the end. Yep, you got it, I'm starting this narrative not at the start, but further along down the line, the part just before the end but not quite there, where there are still a few things left to happen before the grand finale of my life. Still with me?
Okay, so here I am, sitting in a darkened room in a warehouse. One of those old, abandoned and lonely sorts of warehouses. At the moment, I'm in an office with just a torch, my diary, a pen and paper, and a bottle of Smirnoff 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, plus I hope that someone will find it, that they will read it and realise the truth, not the one everyone believes about me, but what actually happened (more on that later) – especially good if it gets to a policeman.
I suppose in all this mucked up work of that I call a piece 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 (I’d like to say my memoirs, makes it sound important and posh, more than it currently is) 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, plus as I sit here and reflect, thanks to the wonders of hindsight, on what I did wrong and how I managed to get myself into this horrible, horrible mess. I mean this mess was horrible anyway, but then I went – BAM- and made it a thousand, no scratch that, a million times worse
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.
