Well, this is my first time writing an Ib fanfic, and my first time writing a fanfic in a long, long time, haha. Sorry if I tend to describe things more than I narrate; there isn't meant to be much emotion involved in this fic, plus there isn't that much story to work with. I don't want this fic to be a long one. Hope you enjoy it! - Nic

Beep. Beep. Beep...

"Uhh, what...?"

Beeeep. Beeeep. Beeeeeep...

"Mmm...roses are red, roses are blue too..."

Beeeeep. BEEEEEEP. BEEEEEE-

"No, I don't like dolls...whahua-EEEEEEEEEEKK!"

In one swift, panicked movement, Garry threw off his blanket as the high pitched, piercing sound of the alarm clock lanced his ears. Dressed in his pale green tank top and brown pants, he lay on the bed for a moment, massaging his throbbing ears to numb the pain, which took more than a moment to fade away.

He'd forgotten to set the clock further away from him, again. Mentally slapping himself, he picked up the fallen blanket and glanced at the clock. Against a black background, green shapes formed "7:14am".

Garry sighed. He'd only meant to wake up to snooze till later, but later wasn't coming anymore.

"Come on Garry, there's a bright side to it - at least you won't be late going to the art gallery." The art gallery! He'd heard of it from a friend, who claimed that the artist whose works were on show - a Ghertenyah or Guerteena of some sort - was a master of the arts in both the technical and abstract; painting, sculpting, you name it. Garry was exhilirated to know that there was one not too far away; he hadn't been to an art gallery in ages. Sure, they could get boring sometimes, but you were fine as long as you didn't go too often and varied your choices.

Suppressing a yawn, Garry trudged over to the open wardrobe, which sat next to a small dresser and mirror. On the far right was his long, navy blue coat - a rather renowned piece of clothing among his peers because of its weird, tattered style. Few didn't remark on his fashion sense, or his behaviour for that matter. His mind drifted to a memory: once, in high school, a couple of jocks from the football team had cornered him. The usual wuss beating party, but he wasn't surprised, though he had been a little scared. They were distracted because they couldn't make up their minds on how to beat him up, and he'd managed to escape through a gap between them (they couldn't have been such good football players to let that happen, now that he thought about it). It wasn't that he liked behaving well, feminine, he just believed it was better to be gentle as opposed to being rough, that was all. What was wrong with that?

Garry pulled the coat off its hanger and put it on, feeling satisfied as his arms went through the soft, cool material. It was almost soft enough to be a blanket. He grabbed a few other things from the dresser; his wristwatch, which he fastened to his right arm, and his old lighter. He'd quit smoking long ago, but still kept the lighter as a reminder to never start again. He shuddered a little, remembering how hard it'd been to stop. The only reason he hadn't given up was because a little girl had been frightened when she saw him lighting a cigarette, and her mother had promptly pulled her away, muttering something like "Just like your father...killing themselves and their loved ones".

He tucked the lighter into his pocket, then proceeded to head downstairs. He'd have breakfast, then perhaps head to the sweetshop nearby. The art gallery didn't open till early afternoon, so he still had plenty of time. "Maybe I should get the lemon one today, they're pretty good," he mused.

The sky's not very nice today. It looks like it'll rain...I hope Mama remembered to bring in the clothes.

Today Mama made pasta for lunch, with tomato sauce and dark green bits of leaves, which she said was called basil; it was a type of herb, she said, and it smelled very nice. Mama says we should learn to eat all kinds of food, not just Japanese. She likes to cook food rather than go out, too, although Papa doesn't always agree. Sometimes I help her to wash fruits and vegetables, or mix the batter in the bowl when she bakes.

We're having lunch early, because we'll be going to an art gallery. Mama and Papa both asked me where I wanted to go this weekend, so we could spend some family time together. I've never been to an art gallery before, but a new one just opened nearby, and it sounds like fun, so they agreed.

"So, Ib, are you excited to go?" Papa said with a smile. I looked up from my bowl of pasta and smiled back, and said "Yes!". "There's a lot you can learn from art, Ib," he continued. "Some things don't make sense sometimes, because when the artist paints or makes something, he puts his own ideas into it. But that's what makes art so interesting to look at! Remember that, okay? Especially at the gallery later." "Mhmm," I say in earnest, and Mama laughed. "Look at her face," she exclaimed. "She's taking in everything you say so well! I'm sure you'll have a great time at the gallery, Ib."

After lunch I pull my sleeves back down, which were rolled up so that sauce wouldn't get on it. I'm wearing my school uniform, which is a white long-sleeved blouse, a big red ribbon and skirt, black stockings and red shoes. Mama's wearing a long red dress, and Papa's wearing a dark blue suit and trousers. We're all ready to go now. "Did you remember everything, Ib?" Papa asked, and I nodded. "Oh!" Mama interrupted, as we walked out through the door outside. "Do you have your handkerchief? You know, the one you got for your birthday?" I nod one more time; the white lace handkerchief, with my name stitched in red at one corner, is in my pocket. "Keep it safe in your pocket, okay? Don't lose it!"

Edit: I've changed the title to "Prelude to Ib", Ib being the game itself, not the character. Just so it would make more sense, since I'm including Garry's story before Ib finds him as well.