Virtual_Space
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Dec 14, 2006
- Messages
- 84
Ok, I have finally found a story I like, and from everyone I have talked to, other people like it too. I am only going to post the first chapter and the prologue, first chapter comes later btw. Here is the prologue. I am also trying for a very different style of writing this time, or atleast different from my other work.
Prologue
A light snow falls on a cold day in Seattle, blanketing the ground in a sea of white. People honk their car horns in defiance of one another. Children frolic along the street sides, catching snowflakes on their tongues. The street lights flash their usual colors. An average day to all but the most ardent of observers.
Walking down the sidewalk is Andrea Edgar, wrapped in a heavy, brown coat. Her short black hair is hidden beneath a tightly knit cap, and her hands kept warm by thick gloves. She rubs her hands together in a futile attempt to keep warm. It fails to keep away the clinging cold.
The world seems to slow as Andrea walks by, her dark and foreboding presence felt by all. Perhaps it is her cold stare, as cold as the air around her. Perhaps it is the mascara running down her cheeks. Or maybe, just maybe, they know what is going through her mind, what swirls in its deep, dark, abyss.
Andrea steps onto the street corner, watching the heavy, morning traffic streak by. The lights fade into the distance as quickly as they come. She lets the thoughts leak from her mindless depths, trickling into her conscious self. The thoughts pervade all they reach, killing off any semblance of hope she once had.
“Finish it,” the voice from deep inside says, “Finish it here, nows as good a time as any.”
“I can't” Andrea mutters under her breath, a man waiting for the light eying her strangely as she says it. “I mustn't,”
But the thoughts take hold. In an instant, Andrea dashes out into the oncoming traffic. The first car swerves into parked car nearby, setting off its screeching alarm. The blue sedan afterwards is far more accurate.
The car slams into Andrea, forcing her over the hood and onto the cold street below. No scream accompanies her death, save for the screams of those around her. A mother shields her young sons eyes from the terrible sight.
Lying on the ground is Andrea, blood forming around her mouth. An old man, hair as white as the snow around him, walks over and puts his hand to her neck.
“She's dead, the poor thing is dead,” he says with a shake of his head, as if to say “its a pity”.
And that is how Andrea's life ends. Not in bed at the age of eighty, but in the streets at the age of twenty three. But it is not the end of her story. Her old world left behind, a new one awaits her in the land beyond the living.
Walking down the sidewalk is Andrea Edgar, wrapped in a heavy, brown coat. Her short black hair is hidden beneath a tightly knit cap, and her hands kept warm by thick gloves. She rubs her hands together in a futile attempt to keep warm. It fails to keep away the clinging cold.
The world seems to slow as Andrea walks by, her dark and foreboding presence felt by all. Perhaps it is her cold stare, as cold as the air around her. Perhaps it is the mascara running down her cheeks. Or maybe, just maybe, they know what is going through her mind, what swirls in its deep, dark, abyss.
Andrea steps onto the street corner, watching the heavy, morning traffic streak by. The lights fade into the distance as quickly as they come. She lets the thoughts leak from her mindless depths, trickling into her conscious self. The thoughts pervade all they reach, killing off any semblance of hope she once had.
“Finish it,” the voice from deep inside says, “Finish it here, nows as good a time as any.”
“I can't” Andrea mutters under her breath, a man waiting for the light eying her strangely as she says it. “I mustn't,”
But the thoughts take hold. In an instant, Andrea dashes out into the oncoming traffic. The first car swerves into parked car nearby, setting off its screeching alarm. The blue sedan afterwards is far more accurate.
The car slams into Andrea, forcing her over the hood and onto the cold street below. No scream accompanies her death, save for the screams of those around her. A mother shields her young sons eyes from the terrible sight.
Lying on the ground is Andrea, blood forming around her mouth. An old man, hair as white as the snow around him, walks over and puts his hand to her neck.
“She's dead, the poor thing is dead,” he says with a shake of his head, as if to say “its a pity”.
And that is how Andrea's life ends. Not in bed at the age of eighty, but in the streets at the age of twenty three. But it is not the end of her story. Her old world left behind, a new one awaits her in the land beyond the living.