Prologue
Whoo! Finally got around to updating. But since I don't have much to say why don't I post the prologue to my work in progress story (right now called The Control Theory but subject to change). First thing I ever wrote for the story (even before I had a plot) as it was just an idea running through my head, didn't plan for it to go as far as it has but the story's taken a life of its own.
P.S.- Still working on grammar/spelling cuz' Spellcheck is awesome but misses a lot.
Next Chapter: Part II
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The Curse of the Moon
The pale sunlight shone down through the thin clouds onto a streaked, slightly clouded, window of an old brick apartment building. With her forehead pressed against the glass, the figure of a young woman stared out blankly to the street below.
Another drizzly day was approaching and a fine mist had permeated the air. Another day of hearing the sounds of people laughing, talking, crying, screaming, whispering, hissing, sighing, blaming, contradicting, teaching, preaching, praying, and singing. Of hearing an ice cream car go round, seeing a fire truck roar by, bicycles ringing past, cars blaring through. All mixed up into a symphony of such a grand scale that none could ever compare. Beautiful. Art; perfection in imperfection.
The woman sighed, her breath fogging a portion of the pane. She found everyday beautiful; every inch of it bring her the most agonizingly exquisite pleasure she’d ever felt. A forbidden pleasure. A pleasure that she shouldn’t be able to taste, but does. A pleasure that she had no right to own; but did. So beautiful as it was painful. Painful, because it wasn’t hers. It could never be hers, and she didn’t belong here. She would never belong here. It would never be home. It couldn’t ever be home.
A man suddenly came jogging down the dim street she was watching. He wore a hood over his face and he would seemingly punch out at random. A jab here. A hook there. The man passed underneath her window and a small smile played on the woman’s lips. He was always right on time, every single day. Even Christmas. He had no family to share it with, no friends or colleagues. A loner. A boxer. Who didn’t know her at all.
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The sky was slowly lightening by the time she stepped out onto the sidewalk. The symphony yet to start, its musicians warming up. Mist still clung to the air as she walked through the city. Pulling her scarf around her neck to fight the chill. Bringing out her gloves to keep her hands warm. The smell of salt, garbage, food, and wet dirt. So natural and unnatural at the same time. So comforting and disgusting. Another sigh escaped her. Her breath becoming part of the haze that surrounded her.
She passed a movie rental and music store. Posters of up and coming shows and concerts plastered on the wall, some with graffiti sprayed across. One poster was a comedy based off of a Shakespearian piece. She liked Shakespeare; the man had used four basic plots and had somehow come up with numerous more plays than imaginable that could still be translated into today’s culture. Something a rare few did.
Another poster was for a horror movie, a remake actually. She enjoyed these too, but not out of the same respect. Horror movies were quite hilarious in her opinion, all the characters had to do was use common sense and there would be no horror, no story. Most were absolutely pointless and were useful only to laugh at.
A third poster, the last one visible, had the picture of a man on it. A man with the most piercing blue eyes she had ever seen. Eyes that held so much within them. Eyes that told a story. Hair as black as a raven’s, slicked back with a slight curl at the end. A face that was hard and stern but held compassion and understanding. The woman quickly hitched her backpack further up her shoulders and quickly walked away. A rock star, whose fame was known throughout the world. One, who would never recognize her at all.
----------
She stood outside a building. For a moment her eyes held a different image in them. A tall and conservative structure turned into an ancient and elegant castle, the colorless steel becoming worn stone, the concrete floor turning to grass, and trees sprouting out of the ground. She was looking at a school now, so full of life and energy as students roamed around in a casual manner. The school she attended.
Numerous people walked by her as she crossed the threshold and entered the grounds. So many faces she saw in the sea. Future musicians who had yet to pick their instruments. Faces swarmed around her, looked at her, ignored her, smiled at her, waved at her, and glared at her. Some she knew. Some recognized her. However, no matter how many people saw her, they never acknowledged her. No matter how many people knew her, they never saw her. They only saw Mattie Destler stroll down the hallways. They only acknowledged Mattie. They didn’t even know who she was. They never would. This wasn’t her home. It would never be.
P.S.- Still working on grammar/spelling cuz' Spellcheck is awesome but misses a lot.
Next Chapter: Part II
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Curse of the Moon
The pale sunlight shone down through the thin clouds onto a streaked, slightly clouded, window of an old brick apartment building. With her forehead pressed against the glass, the figure of a young woman stared out blankly to the street below.
Another drizzly day was approaching and a fine mist had permeated the air. Another day of hearing the sounds of people laughing, talking, crying, screaming, whispering, hissing, sighing, blaming, contradicting, teaching, preaching, praying, and singing. Of hearing an ice cream car go round, seeing a fire truck roar by, bicycles ringing past, cars blaring through. All mixed up into a symphony of such a grand scale that none could ever compare. Beautiful. Art; perfection in imperfection.
The woman sighed, her breath fogging a portion of the pane. She found everyday beautiful; every inch of it bring her the most agonizingly exquisite pleasure she’d ever felt. A forbidden pleasure. A pleasure that she shouldn’t be able to taste, but does. A pleasure that she had no right to own; but did. So beautiful as it was painful. Painful, because it wasn’t hers. It could never be hers, and she didn’t belong here. She would never belong here. It would never be home. It couldn’t ever be home.
A man suddenly came jogging down the dim street she was watching. He wore a hood over his face and he would seemingly punch out at random. A jab here. A hook there. The man passed underneath her window and a small smile played on the woman’s lips. He was always right on time, every single day. Even Christmas. He had no family to share it with, no friends or colleagues. A loner. A boxer. Who didn’t know her at all.
----------
The sky was slowly lightening by the time she stepped out onto the sidewalk. The symphony yet to start, its musicians warming up. Mist still clung to the air as she walked through the city. Pulling her scarf around her neck to fight the chill. Bringing out her gloves to keep her hands warm. The smell of salt, garbage, food, and wet dirt. So natural and unnatural at the same time. So comforting and disgusting. Another sigh escaped her. Her breath becoming part of the haze that surrounded her.
She passed a movie rental and music store. Posters of up and coming shows and concerts plastered on the wall, some with graffiti sprayed across. One poster was a comedy based off of a Shakespearian piece. She liked Shakespeare; the man had used four basic plots and had somehow come up with numerous more plays than imaginable that could still be translated into today’s culture. Something a rare few did.
Another poster was for a horror movie, a remake actually. She enjoyed these too, but not out of the same respect. Horror movies were quite hilarious in her opinion, all the characters had to do was use common sense and there would be no horror, no story. Most were absolutely pointless and were useful only to laugh at.
A third poster, the last one visible, had the picture of a man on it. A man with the most piercing blue eyes she had ever seen. Eyes that held so much within them. Eyes that told a story. Hair as black as a raven’s, slicked back with a slight curl at the end. A face that was hard and stern but held compassion and understanding. The woman quickly hitched her backpack further up her shoulders and quickly walked away. A rock star, whose fame was known throughout the world. One, who would never recognize her at all.
----------
She stood outside a building. For a moment her eyes held a different image in them. A tall and conservative structure turned into an ancient and elegant castle, the colorless steel becoming worn stone, the concrete floor turning to grass, and trees sprouting out of the ground. She was looking at a school now, so full of life and energy as students roamed around in a casual manner. The school she attended.
Numerous people walked by her as she crossed the threshold and entered the grounds. So many faces she saw in the sea. Future musicians who had yet to pick their instruments. Faces swarmed around her, looked at her, ignored her, smiled at her, waved at her, and glared at her. Some she knew. Some recognized her. However, no matter how many people saw her, they never acknowledged her. No matter how many people knew her, they never saw her. They only saw Mattie Destler stroll down the hallways. They only acknowledged Mattie. They didn’t even know who she was. They never would. This wasn’t her home. It would never be.