Hello! Here's the deal - I have been reading fanfictions for almost a year and have often wanted to write my own story. I always got ideas, but I thought none of it was good enough. I have a friend, and I guess this story is for her. She has always pushed me to write anything just for the sake of it. I got this idea, and I'm giving it a shot. This is a VERY, VERY short chapter. All of them won't be like this, but if it's worth it review or message me. That way I will know if it's even worth doing this because right now I am doubting this whole idea. Well here goes nothing........... ~eandbrandofheroin
~PROLOGUE~
Mornings are the start of a new day, a fresh start in a way if you would. I love them and am undoubtedly an early bird. I get to start over and leave behind yesterday. Or do I? When I think of the past, I think of history. Both consist of good and bad. They are unchangeable and permanent. Well, my past is no exception. I guess it is just how things are. Some things just never change, and everything happens for a reason. Or does it?
Chapter 1
I feel the autumn air pushing against me, and I pump my legs faster. The wind is my barrier, unyielding and rigid, but I push through, break it down, and it feels good. My hair, in a ponytail, flies with the gusts behind me. I breathe in the freshness of Central Park, one of the few places in New York City where there are trees. My Nike armband is strapped to my left arm and holds my precious iPod. My ear buds are plugged in, and "Move Along" by The All American Rejects booms from the little ear buds. I'm wearing my usual tank-top and tennis shorts. My legs are tiring from the extra stretch because today I chose to do the extra mile, making today's run 5 miles. Running has always been one of my favorite hobbies ever since I came to the city. There's just something so liberating about it, and I feel free, unstoppable, unbreakable, like I control, and the world is in my hands.
Oh yes, there's nothing like a Monday morning! Every one complains about the Monday morning blues and how rushed it is after a relaxing weekend. People speak of the dread of going back to work. Odd as it is to some, I never feel that burdened weight, or maybe it is because it has always been there, and I'm just used to it. The reason Monday mornings are so special is that I do my daily 5:30 A.M. run and go to the nearest Barnes & Noble on Fifth Avenue. That may not seem so special, but it is for me.
It's the one time that I get my favorite caramel macchiato - iced or warm depending on my mood, sit down in my favorite back corner in the store, and just write. I write about everything that comes to mind-my day, life, a thought, an appealing quote, dreams, ambitions, hope, and most of all the haunting story of my past and who I am. Actually, I don't know much about who and what I am, even at age 21. Just like different therapies like retail therapy, writing is my therapy. I lash out everything on pages, and no ones has to no about it – happiness, anger, regret, remorse, curiosity, stress, confusion, but it's not like I even feel those anymore.
What I would give to feel anything, even if it is raging anger. What is up with life and its ways? How do I break down this lifeless, black hole I have been sucked into? I am so lifeless. Is there such a thing as a lifeless life? I don't like this numbness, this nothingness.
