So, this is a short freewrite I did for my Independent Study, and I just thought Hale fit perfectly. He's abosultley one of my favorite characters ever, hands down, and I can't wait until there's another book.
I decided it was high time to contribue something to this wonderful series. Enjoy this short snippet of Hale.
-AIT
SCHRÖDINGER'S CAT
Hale sauntered down the back streets of London, hands deep in his pockets and the collar popped on his jacket. His face was illuminated by the dim glow from the street lights, reflecting sporadically on the tall shop windows that adorned the sidewalks. Occasionally, a patch of a puddle glowed, showering orange sparks onto the damp sidewalk. The young man's angular cheekbones sharply defined his aristocratic features—a long nose, thin lips, and pale skin that seemed to visibly glow under the fluorescence. Fair hair, normally jauntily swept across his forehead, was plastered to his temples, dyed a dark brown by the drizzle.
A thin curtain of rain had been falling since midday, soaking Kensington Gardens and raising the Thames a few inches. The usual myriad of camera-toting tourists had deserted rapidly in the misty midnight hours which left the streets empty and the pubs crowded. Once or twice a bright red double-decker bus plodded past. It wheezed to stop and unloaded a few early morning commuters who quickly withdrew their umbrellas and dashed off to their destinations. As Hale passed by a tavern, a sudden wall of warmth enveloped him, momentarily shaking off the early autumn chill that had descended around his shoulders. He breathed in the fragrant aroma of bread and ale and almost turned in to join them before he shook off the notion, dislodging a few rain drops in the process, and moved down the block.
Whistling an old tune and tossing his head back toward the sky, Hale finally paused by an old gate, warped iron and ivy-draped. He shrugged out of his sodden pea coat, draping it over the decorative lamp post that blazed behind him. With a slight shudder as the chill rain hit his bare arms, the young man pulled a thin cigarette out of his pocket and flicked his lighter once, twice before the familiar glow illuminated his cupped hands. Hale took a swift drag from his smoke and continued his stroll down the side road.
Despite the rain, a narrow smile pulled at the corners of his lips, a slight chuckle rising out of his throat. There was a strange paradox in these early hours before dawn. The darkest skies were slowly giving way to the faintest pink of a sunrise, merely a slender line above the horizon. Street lights were beginning their cheerful blinking pattern of reds, yellows, and greens as taxis and buses began to congest the previously empty, slick roads. Early morning travelers were beginning to make their daily trek through the heart of the city, some turning into back alleyways and side streets that no one else would have seen, save if they were looking for them.
So many untraveled roads.
So many missed chances.
Life, Hale thought, was a series of doors—a maze with several exits. There were multiple pathways. There were multiple outcomes. There was the opportunity for you to take several paths. All you had to do was a take a step down one of those "roads less traveled," and there was a new adventure awaiting you.
Life, Hale thought, was something like a box waiting to be opened—a Schrödinger's cat. If you never opened the box, you couldn't be sure if the feline was alive or dead. You had to pull back the panels to discover the fate of the animal. Dead. Alive. You couldn't know until you did something.