Hellew! The prose bug has stung me again, and it seems I'm not immune to it anymore (hoorah!). Genesis is really a spur of the moment whim. The idea for it pretty much struck me from the sky yesterday, so here I am--electrically buzzed and barely alive. XP
Note: The remaining chapters won't be journal entries (that's what this prologue is, if you didn't notice), though they may contain excerpts.
DISCLAIMER: Genesis will be loosely based off of the squeeze-worthy Thomas Hardy's Tess of the d'Urbervilles. If you've read it, you probably fell in and out of love with it the entire time, and surprise--you're in for a similar experience. If you haven't read Tess...no worries; you'll only have to go through the love/hate cycle once. Don't be surprised if a bit of Paradise Lost sneaks its way in here, as well.
Oh, and I own neither one of those masterpieces mentioned above. Though, of course, I own Harry Potter. But you'll be keeping that hush hush, now. *winks*
: : Prologue : :
June 16th, 2023
It's a fine day. Ordinary. Hot as ever. The front porch is coated with layer upon layer of stiffling heat, and the swiveling shadows wrap their arms around my still form for a beat. Or two. Or three. Then move to warmly greet the others waiting in the noisy silence before, behind, and between.
The birds whistle freely tunes of yesterdays and tomorrows, leaving all todays for the Singing Unsaid. The trees—what a calm, green dance they have, those bark-marred beauties beyond the screen with their sappy talk and rigid stance. What careful whispers linger on the air. If we're not careful, their stories will sink into the soil forever forgotten.
If we don't hear them, really hear them, how can glory ring?
So, I listen. And my quill listens. And we listen together for a while to the gentle hum that is the day. Then, we narrow our gaze to this notebook here on my lap and play with Paper, hardly caring how she likes it, if at all, until we part our ways.
Until a forever next time, today, when we romp again with Her Whiteness lined in blues across, reds down and tell woven stories of our magical escapades and ventures and discoveries of love and danger and musical spells fit for no one in particular.
The particulars are particles in a giant's world.
The outcasts by the sidewalks scuff along behind us, blending into the road less travelled by. The inland sorts—all outlandish to boot—keep their happy ground of Pride as we scribble them in somewhere remote. Fantastic beasts and the rogues of time creep in the brush, though they don't know we can see them and believe them if we try.
Or die trying.
So, against all odds, against all expectations, against ages of before and after, we presently welcome the enemy into our arms; there's more depth to the darkness and its endless circus...
Ah, he—what an entrance! He earns the world and back again, that trapeze artist, but he leaves us hanging on his every word and exits too soon. And she—has she been here long? Not to worry—we’ll applaud her, too; after all, there’s more to the thick silence and its shrinking surface. She has nothing and everything to entertain us with, that clown, nothing and everything to share. To cherish.
And as for the others: we’ll catch them tomorrow or yesterday or the day before that as we feel like. We’ll wander longer, up and back, and each step will serve a strengthening stride…
Until we halt.
We look on as the magic frays at the edges, though the dampened day wares on until tomorrow’s spell.
Until next time, when again, I sit here on the front porch step and look out into my youth and ponder my last breath. Until I am carried off into a small, small world of endless wonders that beg me to follow. They beckon me.
What choice do I have? Can I deny my imagination? Can I deny a broader canvas with boundless dimensions?
Can I deny him?
Until next time.
(so still, so alive)
A/N: So...how is the intro? All and any reviews are much appreciated. Stay tuned in for Phase the First!