Chapter 1 (A Prologue, if you will)

Chapter 1:

The street was lined with trees. It was dark, and the light of the moon filtered through onto the road in patches. It wasn’t a very posh area. All the buildings looked the same- Drab colours, four storeys high. Each one had a small patch of hard ground behind it, which served as a garden.However, what appealed to the eye were large bay windows in each apartment which opened out onto a small balcony. There were a variety of people living in these buildings: students, widows, newly married couples, struggling writers and retired businessmen. There were no concierges, no fancy business. The buildings ranged from A-K. We, dear reader, are interested in Building F.
On the first floor of this building lived a girl. Not a very attractive girl. Not someone you would give a second look if you passed her on the street. Her name, you ask? That’s not important.
What does she do? Stop butting in, you’ll find out.
This girl lived a busy life. She went to college in the morning and stayed out late into the night. She partied. A lot. She would trot out of Building F, in her high heels, provocative clothes, and her red, curly hair cascading down her bare shoulders.
A peep into her apartment revealed that it looked like a dump. With just one extremely large room, the kitchen and sleeping area were just a few steps apart. There was no fancy dining area, no TV room.
What’s that? Why is it so dirty? I don’t know! Maybe because she’s a slob???
You do ask the stupidest questions.
Now that you mention it, this place is REALLY filthy.Books strewn over cigarette packs, bottles of beer lying on the kitchen counter, peeling paint, unwashed dishes. Ugh. That slice of pizza looks a hundred years old!
The bathroom? Oh, trust me, you do NOT want to go in there. Why don’t we walk through these exquisite windows?
Now, if you stood on the quaint little balcony of the apartment and looked across the road, you would see…No, not that dustbin! Why would the point of my story be a dustbin?? No, you would see a car.
A black car.
A small, black car.Yes, right there.
Inside this car was a man.
And this man is the point of my story.


~ by cranialrumblings on February 1, 2009.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: