I blame friends.Either way, the link is angelusmemoria.tumblr.com. Not very different, eh? I won’t post a ton about writing (that’ll mostly go here) but I’ll use it to get all the mumble-jumble of my thoughts out.

Anyway, I restarted Chapter 2. I’m kind of frustrated with it, to be honest. Along with PreCalc Honors. What a sucky, unnecessary course. Whoever thought up the idea of math really went down on my list this year.

Edit, I changed my tumblr link to http://dragonflywingsandladybugwishes.tumblr.com/.

Between both trips, however, I did actually sit down and begin Chapter Two. I’m not 100% happy with what I wrote and I may change it but oh well. It’s a starting point and that’s all that matters, I guess. Either way, right now I’m making a point to sit down and edit it since the last time I looked at it was probably…2 weeks ago…

Unfortunately, I have a feeling once school starts up, I’ll have even less time to devote to this. Hopefully, after the month of September, I’ll roll back into it. On the bright side, this storyline is something that’s on my mind almost constantly but I feel like I still have little road bumps to smooth out.

Anyway, just a side note, if anyone’s looking for a good mystery thriller, check out Steig Larsson’s The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I just finished the sequel and now I’m impatiently waiting for my mother to finish the third so I can hurry up and read it, too. The books make up a terrificly suspenseful trilogy  that I suggest to people who really enjoy crime mysteries and don’t mind strong adult themes. Be patient with the first, though. It starts off really strong with its first few pages which is followed by a weak spot, but then picks back up immediately.

And that’s really all I have to say…

I’m trying to speed up the writing of this book (which is horrifically slow >.<) and I wish everyone luck with the upcoming school year!

Chapter One

After seeing nothing but white for so long, the burst of color was a shock to his eyes.

He had lost track of the passing days on the 42,705^th day. At that rate, he had reached one hundred and seventeen years. His subconscious had simply taken its last gulp of air in the drowning waters of his mind. Without any knowledge of the time of day, he had fallen back on pure instinct to calculate the crawling time of months and years. To the surprise of some, his time in prison was not as bad as many would have predicted. Quickly, he had learned that isolation did funny things to the brain. He had been locked up for just one long month when already his mind had begun to disintegrate right inside his very skull. The minutes began to slide into hours, the days into weeks. His subconscious came to a startling halt as his memories flew away, like a bunch of balloons cut at the strings, and his syrupy thoughts dripped on slowly. Right then and there, he had decided to take advantage of his lengthy sentence, five hundred years, and use it as a sort of mental holiday.

No more worrying, no more stress and more importantly, no more work. Wanting to make the most of his time, he had followed this as an attempt to remain optimistic about the entire scenario, which had seemed hopeless right from the start. He thought it would serve as a fresh start – obliterate all traces of what had happened in the past from his mind and begin anew. And so he shoved every remaining scrap of a thought into the farthest corner of his consciousness and eagerly forgot the details of the life he had once lived. Except for the days. Those he struggled to remember no matter what. The action itself reminded him that he had once been someone. Someone with a name and a life, someone with friends, a home, and a job. Otherwise, he seemed to just float around inside the cell, like a tiny microscopic dust mote, without a soul or body to grasp onto. This hobby of his, this daily series of calculations, continued until one crucial moment.

And what number is today?

He could barely stand to string the words together.

What do you mean? Haven’t you always been stuck in here?

It seemed almost inevitable to him that this would happen – that his world would grow to focus only on the six white walls which surrounded him and nothing more. After all, his mind hadn’t been built to survive half a century locked up in loneliness; his only use was to follow orders like a soldier. He eventually slipped into the belief that this was eternity – a never ending white brightness with no exits or other living things.

When the cell door opened, he wasn’t sure how to respond. He could feel the fragile walls of his own world shattering around him, the shards slicing into his skin and bringing forth pain, a sensation which had been cast aside over the years. He could feel an impending storm of change, blowing towards him on strong gusts of wind, warning him of the brewing hurricane on the horizon. He could feel a voice in the back of his head, a remnant of his former self begging to be let out of the box he had locked it in. But I don’t have the key, he wailed, I don’t know who I am anymore.

Two figures stepped towards him, two burly shapes dressed in dark clothes. He didn’t have a clue who they were. To him, they were just disturbances in his perpetually perfect world.

“Come on, get up.” One of them, one with short reddish hair, kicked him. Hard. He jerked violently and vomited up clear fluid onto the floor beside him. Everything suddenly hurt. He wasn’t used to such agony. For years and years his body had remained in a form of hibernation; this new sense of nausea and dizziness not only knocked the breath out of him, but it nauseated him even more. The cynical side of him found this to be ironically humorous.

“Ugh.” The man shook his booted foot, speckled with vomit, and glared down at him. “I’m gonna need help with this one. He’s practically a vegetable,” he called over his shoulder.

From behind the first man came a second and the two were practically indistinguishable except where the first ones’ hair was red, this man’s was a dark brown. They were similar in appearance – broad features with narrow eyes, brawny build and tall. Both were like huge ogres, identical even down to the stupid expressions they wore on their faces.

He felt himself being lifted up and choked out an alarmed sound of revolt. The second man had hoisted him up without the help of his partner and was beginning to drag him away.

“No!” His voice cracked from misuse and he began to cough forcefully. “Let me go!” The sound that escaped from his dry and cracked windpipe was barely above a hoarse whisper but he prayed it got the message across.

The man carrying him snickered. “You hear this guy? Man, they sure did a number on him.”

Behind them was the first one, the one who had kicked him in the stomach. His boyish face stretched into a wolfish smile. “That’s what 150 years will do to a guy. I don’t think he’s in what I’d call the best condition right about now.” The peal of their raucous laughter hurt his ears. “Go back the way we came. Boss said he’d be in Room 14.”

Thoughts??

So this week my really good friend is going to a sleepover camp. Usually, when I’m on the computer and trying to write but have writer’s block, I give up, ask her to come on, and she distracts me. This week – and I have yet to decide if this is a good or a bad thing – she won’t be there so I am guessing I’ll be forced to get past this writer’s block and actually attempt chapter one.

Again.

Chapter one’s a toughie. I have about 2 versions of it already and I dislike both. Actually, because of a movie I watched yesterday, I may even start it out way differently than planned. I have to decide soon, either way, and look some things up if I go the way I’m thinking. What I’m trying to say is, I have a feeling this week’s impending boredom will drive me to get this chapter up amd going. I have my fingers crossed.

And that’s it. See, I said this was unnecessary. Oh well.

However, for a day I debated on posting it or not because of the length (it’s about 4,000 words). Today, however, I truthfully pushed all prologue thoughts to the back of my mind and went and saw Eclipse. The following is totally spoiler-free, so don’t worry. And if you still don’t want to read my silly thoughts, just ignore the next paragraph.

I’ll just say this: I’m only 5 songs into the soundtrack but, damn, it sounds incredible. I thought the soundtrack to Twilight had its ups and downs, New Moon was pretty strong, but this one just seems awesome. I might be biased, though, since I’m huge fans of Florence + the Machine, Metric, and Sia and have been since long before this soundtrack. Also, I have a newfound attraction to Jasper. I mean, in my mind, I always imagined him more like Taylor Hanson (I know. Weird.) and I always somehow ended up writing about him and I love his character/personality but I never really realized how much I like him. Strange. I always thought I was a Carlisle fan. Anyway, Jackson, for some strange reason, (maybe it was his undeniably cute Texan accent? I’m thinking yes) forced me to realize this. So that’s all I’m saying on the movie. Jasper pretty much rocks Stephenie Meyer’s vampire world, for all I’m concerned (so does Maria – she was all I imagined her to be. Ok. I’m officially done using parenthesis. Sorry.).

On a way different note, here’s the prologue. It is lengthy, yes, which is honestly what I was aiming for. I thought the first one was too brief. Hope you all like it.

Prologue

“Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth
Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep.”
~John Milton, Paradise Lost

It was dawn when he arrived in the old city of Philadelphia, yet the coldness that the month of March had dragged in still lingered among the drab stones of the buildings that crowded the waking streets. The sun, a large orb of fire millions of miles away, posed no threat to the clouds which floated above the city’s skyscrapers, keeping everyone and everything below them shrouded in a fine mist of ignorance. As the city awoke with a large industrial yawn, those who worked and lived in the hours of the day woke with it. They lumbered about their apartments and penthouses, turning on their coffeemakers with a slow hum and ransacking their closets. They were the ones who were the most oblivious of all.

He entered the city, undetected, like a dormant virus festering within the blood and body of a human being. He was a ticking bomb, just patiently waiting to go off, a weapon of mass destruction although he carried nothing with him but the clothes on his back. Unbeknownst to most, the man alone was more dangerous than all the guns and bombs in the world.

Because, as anyone would have noticed if they had taken the extra moment to really see him, there was something not right. Of course, he bore the appearance of any average man – his hair was of a black, dusky shade, combed back into a contemporary style which failed to make him stand out in any way at all, paired with two sea glass eyes, similar to the coloring of the Mediterranean Sea. With high, narrow cheekbones and a finely pointed nose, his features could have been described as somewhat striking, and standing barely above six feet with a wiry build, he was neither considered tall nor short, burly nor lean. Right down to very clothes on his back, jeans, a faded gray t-shirt, and a worn corduroy jacket, his entire appearance shouted to those who paid attention to him that he wasn’t any different from the rest of them: a college kid, a city citizen, strolling to class or work or back home after a long night. But under the surface, past the flushed composure of his face brought on by the gently snipping winds, his skin was cracked all over, like he was built of glass and was beginning to chip away after being dropped one too many times. Subtle, the cracks were, almost invisible unless you were studying his features with an observant eye. With an even more attentive eye, one would see how the fissures were fusing together as his skin grew accustomed to chilled air of the city streets. And past that, past the fractures in his skin, was the unhealthy sheen to his flesh. His cheeks contained a vigorous glow from winter’s final stand upon the city while the rest of him gleamed with a thin layer of sweat, damp and moist and covering him from head to toe in clamminess. Further down, to his slender hands, were his fingernails, which were gray, flaky, like those of a dead man’s, and looked like they could have been picked right off with the gentlest tug.

As he walked, some may have paused to rake their eyes over his face, searching for some sort of light hidden there beneath the surface of his irises, some sort of registration or acknowledgement on his face. They would not find it. His face, while eye-catching, contained a peculiar blankness, a sense of indifference mingled with distaste. When he did glance at a passerby (which was not often in the least), his expression contained that of a silently angry and betrayed bird locked in a cage; however, he was not just some sprightly sparrow or canary.

He was a watchful and waiting hawk.

By noon, he had seen his fill of the city and had reached what would be his new home. Like him, it looked as if it was nothing special despite its quaintness and location on the historical Elfreth’s Alley; a tiny brick house that seemed as if it was seeping out from between the buildings on either side of it with a door and shutters the shade of dried forget-me-nots. To the side of the door was a large rusted gate, revealing to him a cobblestone path which led to a backyard. Or at least that was what he guessed, given the scent of fresh herbs and vegetables that seemed to drift forward from within the shadowy greenery behind the bars of the entryway.

A small puff of air escaped from his lips as he sighed, slightly in agitation, before raising his hand towards the door. His knuckles danced off the weakened wood, a hollowed noise resounding softly, and then he stood. After a minute of waiting, he gritted his teeth and knocked again.

“I’s a’comin’! I’s a’comin’! Hold your horses!” The voice that came from behind the door sounded strained, like the speaker was exerting a huge amount of effort to speak above a whisper. He could hear the muted thump as the old woman, the legal owner, made her way towards the door with what he presumed was a walker. He couldn’t imagine anything else making such a noise and given her age – he had read weeks before that she was nearing her 85^th birthday – it only made sense for her to be using one.

Finally, the door swung open, revealing a short, squat woman who, to be completely honest, matched all images he had pictured when skimming over her file. Her chocolate toned skin contrasted greatly with the crown of thick snow white hair that floated atop her head. Heavy lidded misty brown eyes stared up at him and deep wrinkles and age spots freckled over her face, a face of diluted fierceness, as if she were a soldier still fighting the wounds of war decades later. He could already tell she was a fiery one and would probably be a horrible pain in his backside.

“You the student? Boy, you better be. If you ain’t, I’m givin’ you 3 seconds to get off my stoop.” With that, she coughed into a pale yellow handkerchief she had produced from her pocket. He watched in silent dread as her body shook from the sheer force of her coughing fit.

He hadn’t really signed on for this – the whole college student charade where he ended up also having to take care of his sickly landlord. Sent here by his boss, a mere toad of a man who lacked most power and control, he didn’t see why he couldn’t have just bought an apartment. Or a penthouse. A huge, luxurious penthouse in which he could do whatever the hell he pleased.

But no. He was told to ‘rent’ a room somewhere. Well fine. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t.

“Yes,” he replied as soon as she was finished hacking God knows what into the tiny square of cotton, “I believe I spoke with you on the phone concerning the…ah…living space for rent? You told me to arrive Thursday.” Failing to even meet his shoulder, he was able to glance over her head into the dimly lit room. He could make out a small parlor with peeling floral wallpaper and a scattering of mismatched furniture, all appearing as if pulled from another era and dropped here. The 1920’s maybe, he mused to himself, or possibly the 30’s.

She grunted and turned around, her hands clutching her walker as she did so. A loud screeching came from the floors as the wheels scraped against them. He flinched. Living here would be simply lovely, he could already tell. “Come in, come in.” Pausing for a moment, her eyes flicked over his lack of luggage, and she continued. “Don’t got much with ya, do you now?”

Ignoring her suspicious tone, he stepped off the two-step stoop and onto the small colorful area rug. “No, I pack lightly,” he said, evading her stare. “And the room is…?” He looked upwards to the ceiling, wondering what on earth would be waiting for him on the second floor. The entire house exuded a noticeable damp smell as if everything inside had been doused in water and left to dry without any sunlight. Although, he thought, he should have predicted that since all of the shades and curtains were drawn, creating a cave of musky darkness. Plus, the owner herself wasn’t exactly known for her activeness.

Mae Warden was her name. He practically had her biography memorized, though in return she knew very little about him. Born and raised in Philadelphia, the woman had barely seen anything outside the city, let alone the state of Pennsylvania. Her life was boring, ordinary, and even a little bit sad, he thought. She had married young to Lawrence Warden, a boy who lived right down the street from her old home in West Philadelphia, and worked along the docks of the Schuylkill River until the day he died, seven years ago from cancer of the pancreas. They had had five children total, two miscarriages, yet the remaining three had all seemed to have forgotten about elderly Mae. There was Clarice, the eldest, who had ventured to Cleveland, Ohio for schooling and never returned, then energetic little Syd, recruited into the Army and now living in Virginia, and lastly Sheila, the baby of them all, who lived just a few miles away in Princeton, New Jersey. Yet none of them seemed too concerned by the idea of their widowed mother, sick with too many diseases to count – most of the time they fell under the assumption she made up more problems than she actually had – renting out a room or two to a kid who needed a place to live.

They probably should have kept better tabs on mother dearest, he thought.

All in all, the only thing he found unique about the cranky old woman before him was the house she lived in. Nestled on Elfreth’s Alley, a renowned street in the city of Philadelphia, he knew the only reason she was here, in this house, was because her aunt had left it to her in her will. The two had shared a very close relationship and when her aunt, Susanna, had passed away nearly thirty years ago, she had demanded that the house go to Mae, who had shared many long summer nights running up and down the alley street as a little girl. This, he knew, was the only thing standing between Mae living on her own independently and her children, busy living their own lives, shutting her out in a nursing home.

“Not so fast, young man,” she snapped, glaring up at him with surprisingly alert eyes, “Don’t think you can jus’ waltz in here, go up to your room, and never talk to me again. I got rules an’ they need to be followed.”

Pursing his lips to restrain a smart retort, he felt his anger bubble underneath. He didn’t understand why he had to stay here. It had something to do with appearing ‘average’ and covering up his own tracks. His boss figured it may be skeptical for a ‘college kid’ to pop out of nowhere and have the money to stay in a penthouse suite right in Center City. Still, why live with this dreadful woman who clearly didn’t want him around? Couldn’t he have sought after a nice family who couldn’t – and wouldn’t – give two shakes about him?

“Of course,” he smoothly replied, “I was simply just wondering where the room was.”

Her eyes narrowed and she huffed, turning around and walking away into a square minuscule kitchen. The walls, a pastel blue, seemed to match the color of the shutters and door outside and, he noticed, the habit of having a variance of furniture seemed to have spread from the parlor to the kitchen in a contagious bout of décor. The plates and mugs were all different styles and colors, some marked by cracks in the clay and others faded plastic. On the bright side, the room seemed neat and orderly. The windows above the sink opened up onto a small jumbled jungle of a backyard with numerous grasses and shrubbery covering nearly every surface of the disorderly garden.

Parking herself against the counter, she fastened her stare on him. “It’s upstairs but jus’ hold on a darn second. I have a few conditions for you, young man.” Her hands began running over the countertop, searching for something as she looked away from him. “Now where’d I put m’glasses. They were jus’ here a second ago.”

Attempting to get in her good graces, he walked past her towards the round wooden kitchen table in the center of the room. He gingerly picked up a pair of black semi rimless eyeglasses and handed them to her.

“These them?”

She leaned forwards and studied them closely. “Why, they sure are.” Her fingers snatched them from his palm and she slid them on. When they had been secured behind her little ears, her eyes, now appearing much larger behind the strong lenses, sized him up. She raised a grayed eyebrow.

“Now, let’s settle these rules, boy. I know you paid your first sum for this month. I got the check in the mail…,” she hobbled past him and began sorting through a pile of crumpled and discolored envelopes lying next to the microwave. Finally, she pulled one out of the hefty mess and he watched as her eyes scanned over the return address. “Mr. Garrow. You gotta first name, Mr. Garrow?”

He nodded. “Benjamin.”

“Well, Benjamin Garrow, I know you paid the first sum for this month but after that I want a check by the second weekend of each month. Listen, now, I don’t want no doublin’ of sums either. Don’t even think of payin’ for two months at a time. I’m old, boy, I can’t keep track of which months ya’ pay for and which ones ya’ don’t.” Her fingers had already pried open the envelope, containing the check he had sent her nearly a week ago, and she began to reread the information. She looked up at him once more. “Where you from, Benjamin Garrow? You gotta family somewhere?”

The lie came easily and flowed off his tongue as if it were the truth. “My parents live in upper New York with my younger sister. She’ll be attending Columbia this coming fall.”

She nodded, taking the information in. What she’d do with it later, he had no idea. Probably forget it. “And you’re goin’ to school at the old University?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m going for a PhD in Ancient History.” A clucking sound of approval came from the back of her throat.

“You must be busy, then. And smart? Yes? I bet you spend most of your time studying away.” A small chuckle erupted from her and he shrugged, a bit confused by her reaction.

He put his hands in his pockets and nodded. “I suppose so. I have to admit, I most likely won’t even be around here much of the time. I prefer to study in a library with all the books and resources I need at my disposal, if that is alright with you.”

“Oh, heaven’s yes!” She leaned back, clutching her heart, and laughed. He understood then that her sudden pleasant attitude came only from the fact that, though he would be ‘living’ here, she probably wouldn’t see him around much. It was a bit of a shame, he figured. She acquired a strong disliking for company, which was just a little too obvious, yet had to be pushed beyond her comfort zone because of financial issues. She simply didn’t have the money for the historical house anymore and giving it up would be deemed unacceptable to her.

“Please,” she continued, “spend as much time as ya’ want on the campus. I don’ need you around here, crowdin’ up m’house. Anywho, to the rules.” She began to scoot past him and stopped at the foot of a small stairwell which had carved its way between the parlor and kitchen. It was so small that he hadn’t even seen it when he had walked by before.

“Yes, the rules,” he murmured, suddenly a bit wary. He knew if her regulations were too constricting, he’d have to move out right away. He needed to be reassured that wherever he lived, he wouldn’t have anyone hovering over his shoulders.

“Now, let’s get somethin’ straight. You might live here and you may be some smart rich lil’ boy from up in New York but this is m’house. Respect it, boy, respect me and the community and everything else on this street. I hear one word of you messin’ with anybody an’ you out. Secondly, all I’m givin’ you is a roof over your heard, ya hear? I don’ feed ya, I don’ help you with your studies. I don’ leave the house too much so don’ come runnin’ to me if you need somethin’ from the market or store. It’s up to you to get it. And third, which I think is last, don’ you dare bring your college partyin’ and drinkin’ back to this house, got it? I don’ want to see or smell any sort of alcohol or drugs. This ain’t a bachelor pad, boy, so no parties with huge gatherin’ of friends. You got a girlfriend?” Her hand was clutching the walker tightly as she leaned close to him, like an owl on a perch ready to peck him in punishment at the wrong answer.

Shaking his head, he answered, “No, ma’am. Barely have any friends actually, and the select few I have I wouldn’t dream of bringing them here. This is your house, you shouldn’t have to put up with a bunch of rowdy college kids.”

Her lips tightened in liking. “Good boy. You’s a good one, I can see that right now. I’ll tell you what, we’ll see how this goes an’ if you ever want to have one or two over, you jus’ ask. I think that’s all. I should let you get up to your room and settle in. Though I guess that won’t take too long.” Staring at his empty hands, he could tell she was thinking about how he didn’t seem to have anything with him, which was true. He possessed not even a wallet.

“I suppose you’re right.” He allowed himself a small smile. It felt forced.

“Well, up you go. Your room is straight up and to the right. There’s a bathroom across the hall. I hear you sneakin’ round up there in those other rooms and it won’t be pretty, you hear?” Intrigued, he stared at her in curiosity. He summed it up to being a natural territorial behavior which kept her fiercely wanting to keep her belongings to herself, especially since they were in a room which he doubted she could reach, given the trouble she had walking and getting around.

The first few steps creaked under his weight. “Of course not,” he said and then ascended the rest of the stairs, which gave him a sharp sense of claustrophobia. Strange, he thought, never in all his life had he experienced such a reaction to a tight walled area. Yet with the mugginess of the air and the feeling of Mae’s beady eyes on his back, he couldn’t ignore the waves of slight nausea rolling over him.

The stairwell emptied him into an open hall and he gulped in a large amount of the clean air as he looked around. It extended a bit to the left with two doors on each side of the hall, closed and sealed tight. He guessed these were the rooms she was most concerned about. However, to the right was an open door and, as she had told him, right across the hall was the bathroom with dark purple walls and an old fashioned sink and shower. He walked past the doorway of the bathroom and even ignored what would be his bedroom, a rectangular room with mossy green walls and a sparse collection of wooden furniture. Although he took notice of another flight of stairs leading up to an attic, he overlooked that, too. Instead, he aimed for the window at the end of the hall, a little curtainless pane of glass without any sort of lock. Easily, it could be slid open and shut without, hopefully, any sort of sound.

He figured it could be useful someday.

Pulling out his phone from his back pocket, he listened for a second for any sort of movement downstairs. A static buzz of noises came from below him as Mae watched television. All else was silent. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had even fallen asleep in just the short amount of time it had been since they stopped talking.

His fingers began dialing a familiar number, pressing the keys without him even looking. Lifting the silver phone to his ear, his eyes traced over the city buildings and busy streets which stretched out before him in a labyrinth of tangled avenues. Feeling a bit overwhelmed by the ways of the modern city, he wondered how things had changed so much in the world since he had last seen it. I suppose that’s what happens in two hundred years, he thought bitterly.

On the other end of the phone, the ringing had ceased and a scratching voice had replaced the annoying electric sound. “This better be important,” a man’s voice snapped, “I’m busy.”

Benjamin rolled his eyes. “It’s me.”

The air suddenly changed. He could imagine his friend straightening up, his eyes darting around to those who sat near, pondering the possibility of someone overhearing him. “What the hell are you doing up here?” His voice was a mere hiss in Benjamin’s ears. “I thought you were on probation.”

Benjamin laughed quietly, aware of Mae’s presence below. “I’m here on work. A difficult job, you could say, and if I complete it successfully, I’m free with no charge or supervision.” He paused and walked back down the length of the hall, stopping in the entryway of the bathroom. Inside, he stared at his reflection in the water stained mirror. It was like looking at a stranger.

The man on the other line tsked his tongue quietly. “Well, well, well. I guess when they say ‘do the crime and pay the time’, there are exceptions to every rule. I always knew you’d get out of it…”

“Benjamin. My name is now Benjamin.”

Laughter. “Right, Benjamin, right. So what’s this little project of yours? I’m just dying to hear what sort of job would be given to someone like you in such a position.”

Benjamin took a step closer to the mirror and put a hand on the side of the sink. He couldn’t mess this up. His entire life, if you could call it that, depended on this. Screw it up, his boss had told him, and you’re back in the cell. We rarely give second chances here but you’re one of the best we’ve got. Thank your lucky stars that someone in the big house has a soft spot for you. The conversation, one he had participated in weeks ago, rang through his head like a memorized scene to a play.

“I can’t tell you now. Meet me somewhere?” His eyes were staring calmly back at him within the realms of the mirror.

His friend sighed and grunted. “If this wasn’t you asking me, I’d tell you to go straight to hell.” He paused to laugh some more, a grimy sort of snicker. “But, then again, since it is you I guess that wouldn’t mean much, hmm? Been there, done that. Tell me when and where.”

Benjamin racked through the map of the city in his mind for a moment. “Fairmount Park. 10:30 tonight. Keep a low profile.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He hung up quickly and tucked the phone back in his pocket. It was the only thing he had with him in this strange new city. Shaking his head, he looked back to his reflection in the mirror. With one fingertip, he touched the side of his face where the lasts of the cracks was molding together. He sighed and rolled back on his heels.

The eyes that now stared at him from the depths of the glass were a ravenous, pitch black.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Mysterious enough for you?

I added a link to my links collection on the right of the screen. It’s a Formspring link, which I gave into the temptation of about 2-3 months ago. It’s nothing really exciting but it seems like all of a sudden, everyone has one and posts the link everywhere. It’s like every Twitter account I go onto, BAM, there’s the person’s Formspring link. Anyway, I think it’s an interesting, sometimes entertaining, website to use. So there, it has officially been posted.

Secondly, I uploaded pictures of my Black Forest Cake. In case not many know, I’m quite a closet baker. I’m a fanatic about baking all sorts of things. For most people’s birthdays, I usually bake them a huge batch of muffins or cupcakes or just a cake. Anyway, I decided to bake this cake for my mom after learning just a little bit about it in German class. It’s really supposed to be 4 layers but the bottom layer came out just a wee bit too thin. Oh well.  And here you go, two images of my pride and joy of the baking world:

Shot One

Gooey Layers - Shot Two

So there, my cake and my Formspring. I’m determined to coming close to finishing my Prologue tonight or tomorrow so expect it up either this weekend or early, early next week.

On the bright side, I successfully baked my Black Forest Cake! It was delicious and I am so proud of it, I may even post a picture of it once I find my camera in my luggage. I wouldn’t be surprise if by next year, this blog has transformed into a baking/book reviewing blog…

Anyway, I have two things to talk about and both are pretty brief. So I’m going to try and keep this short.

1) I started a great summer reading book last week on the way to Maine that I think is really incredible and would most likely be appreciated by readers who liked The Host .  It’s titled The Passage and it’s by Justin Cronin. As far as I know, it just recently came out. Beware though, it’s almost 800 pages, very detailed and thorough, making it a bit of a slow read. It’s also written in a very raw style, which I find fantastic, but can be a bit…eh, not so good for others. We’re talking about themes like prostitution being introduced in the first chapter and child molesters having an important role by page 100. Probably not ideal to some but it has an eye opening, thought provoking plot.

2) I redid the prologue. I know, I really thought the first prologue I put up would be the final one but…meh. When in Maine (and kind of under the spell of The Passage) I became inspired to really start over with a ton more description and giving away a bit more information. It’s nowhere near finished – I didn’t have a lot of time in Maine, unfortunately – but I’m going to try and finish it this weekend and maybe send it out to a few people to read over for me. As soon as that’s done, I’ll post it and maybe even redo the first chapter I wrote.

With school now over (and a huge resounding ‘hooray!’ from all students everywhere) I know for sure I will have much more time to write and write and write. Look for a prologue this weekend, I’m guessing?

It’s a bit too hectic for me.

Right now, it’s actually a pain in the butt. I just had to spend almost 5 minutes explaining exactly what all is going on this week to my mom. I still don’t think she understands…

In other words, I haven’t gotten much completed with this book. I began chapter one, which I have to admit was difficult, but then had to focus more on final reviews (which start this week!) and personal issues like my mom’s birthday. Let’s all take a moment and pray that this Friday when I attempt to bake a successful Black Forest Cake, it doesn’t implode  in the oven.

Because not only would that put a damper on our birthday plans, but it’d be a pain to clean that up.

On the other hand, next Saturday I go on a week-long vacation up into New England and the heart of the lovely state of Maine. Since about half of the vacation is purely for me to see colleges of my choice, I have a feeling my nights will be gloriously free…I’m hoping while stuck in the hotel room, I can get something done and kick off my summer of writing.

Now, I think it’s time for some better news. Recently, I actually went on a short car ride through Philadelphia which was pretty eye opening. For those of you who don’t know, I live about 30 minutes outside of the city. However, I rarely travel into it unless it’s for family events, concerts, elementary field trips, the airport, etc. So, I’m a bit unfamiliar with the terrain and way of the city. Even though the ride was brief and I only saw two specific parts of the city, it was pretty informational for me.

I believe that’s it. I’ve been contemplating going back and maybe switching around or adding things into the prologue. I’ll see what happens, though.

I’m a bit stunned by how quickly this prologue came together. It started with not having a clue how to write it, piecing together a preface, then scratching that and writing this. Anyway, I like the way this went. It’s short for me (I usually have a tendency to overwrite) but it’s just a little preview for what’s to come.

Prologue

“Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth
Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep.”
~John Milton, Paradise Lost

He was a force of nature, the way he walked down the bustling streets of Philadelphia. There was a potent air of importance that followed him down every alley and every sidewalk he wandered along. Possibly, it was because of how high he held his chin or the manner in which he pushed his shoulders back, creating an image of utmost confidence that led many to believe he was of value.

Either way, the people who occupied the lively streets scurried out of his path. Some might have observed that there was just something off about him.

He had nothing with him but the very clothes on his back: a pair of black jeans, a faded gray band t-shirt with dark lettering, and a worn black leather jacket. Nothing about his appearance particularly stood out in the dreary mid-March routine of the city. He could have blended right in with the clouded sky overhead and the monotonously dusky structures that lined the streets if he only he had been human.

There was no wallet on him, not even a pair of car keys or any means of identification. His pockets were as empty as the crumbling buildings that he passed, bright advertisements in their windows begging the public for a lease.

Continuing on his way, he didn’t stop until he reached a small, run-down diner dropped almost precariously on a corner. The bell rang overhead as he pushed the door open and no one inside bothered to even look up at the newcomer as he stepped in.

Except the man in the last booth.

“My, look at what the cat’s dragged in,” he said as he looked up from a mug of black coffee. “You know, I almost didn’t recognize you. You actually managed to look like a human for a moment.” His hair, in contrast to the other man’s, was blonde and dirty, falling in uncombed and unwashed locks past his ears. He was the only customer present.

The original man, the one in the leather jacket, slowly sat down opposite him. He ignored the gaze of his friend and watched the lone hostess as she organized menus as if in a trance, her hazel eyes stared at the countertop vacantly. He concluded that the blonde man had put her under some sort of spell.

“What are you doing here, hmm? A demotion? Is that what’s brought you up here?” The blonde took a sip of his bitter coffee before smiling, revealing rotted, yellow teeth.

Leaning back against the cracked booth cushion, the other man reached up and ran a hand through his untidy black hair. He sighed, impatient. “Work. I’m here on work. I figured you’d be here. You’ve been spending your uneventful Saturday mornings here since, how long has it been? ’87?”

Sitting opposite him, the man sneered as he cupped his chipped coffee mug between a pair of callused, dirty hands.  His cobalt eyes narrowed and, quickly, turned flint black before returning blue. “Please, what sort of job given to someone of your stature would bring you here?”

The black haired one smiled. It was a vicious smile, hiding behind it cruel intentions and unspeakable atrocities. Above it, a pair of sea glass eyes glittered lifelessly. “Promise to keep your mouth shut and I’ll tell you.”

An equally spiteful grin matched his own on the blonde’s lips. “Oh, I’m simply shivering in excitement now. Do tell, my friend, do tell.”

Anddddd that’s it. Thoughts?

I’m excited. Can you tell? XD

Alright, here we go. You’ll probably all be able to tell what the secretive storyline will be centered around through the names but oh well.

LEADS:

Haniel

Abaddon

OTHER CHARACTERS:

Good: Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Jophiel, Uriel, Chamuel, Phanuel, Oriphiel, Metatron, Azrael.

Evil: Merihim, Eurynomos, Raum, Dumah, Azazel, Eligos, Belial.

SETTING:

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania along with outskirts and suburban Philly and several fictional cities.

So. I suppose that’s all? Believe me, not all of those characters will have large parts. That’d be far too much to remember. On the other hand, though, there are several other minor characters who I didn’t mention. There are a lot of characters in this book but, on the bright side, not all have huge parts. Some may not even have a line. So it won’t be too bad, believe me. The ones that I expect will have important roles, though, are Michael, Chamuel, Jophiel, Merihim, and Eurynomos.

I guess this sets it all in stone. Up until now I’ve edited my character list several times but I suppose this is it. *deep panicked breath*