Ok, well this is my first chapter in a long, long time. It's a little deep, maybe and most of you probably won't understand but it's my story and I very proud of it. It's short but this chapter is very confusing so I didn't want to make it too long.
(Will be Gabriella, HSM. I didn't want to give it away but I don't want people sending me messages about why the story is in that category. Characters will become clearer as the story progresses)
Written within the last few hours and not proof read so sorry for any errors. I'll check next time, promise.
Hope you like it. Feel free to review and comment. Comment if you don't understand or understand. Tell me your thoughts, praise and criticism.
Thank you. Here's Chapter One of Faded.
She'd start from the beginning but she doesn't know why it begun so she'll start at the beginning but without explanations. This is what kept her up every night, her thoughts on why this started, why she does this, why she had two lives- the one behind closed doors, by herself and the one outside with her friends and family.
This story won't make sense so be prepared for a road of uncertainties and mysteries, things won't make sense to anyone but herself so she's just warning you that this story will always leave you confused and wondering why the hell these things were happening. Nobody has an answer for that, for that feeling of not knowing.
This story won't be for the light hearted, no one who isn't tough wouldn't get through this so this story will have a hell of a lot of question marks because she can't tell you every detail or she wouldn't be tough.
If you're prepared for a heavy story loaded and packed full of secrets then continue but if you think you can't handle it, turn back now because this story and these secrets will stick in your mind and it might drive you insane not knowing the answers or why. She won't tell you why. That's why this story will sometimes make you feel like you can't continue to read on or you might start questioning every little detail of your life but some won't understand this story nor this beginning description of what the story will be like, aren't you supposed to tell the story not describe it within the first few seconds? Yes, though this is her story she's telling, why does it have to be like everybody else's? Nobody's stories are the same so why should written stories be the same? Some people will laugh at this story and won't understand any of the details or lack of. Those who have been through anything in their lives which has turned you upside down and tossed you about, you might get it. Probably not… This story won't make sense. You won't understand why these things happen, like she said before this story won't make sense, at all… have you noticed she's repeating herself? repeating herself, is she? But like she said, you won't understand this story. Feeling a little confused, on edge? No? Yes? This story is designed for these questions not to be answer or too be answer. Confusing yet? Yes? No? Ok, let's continue. No? Yes? Repeating. Let's continue.
She sits. She lays. She stands. But does she move? She does. She wishes she didn't have to move. It aches or maybe that's just in her mind, in her head. What aches, you may be thinking but like she said- no answers just questions. Not necessarily all the questions will be asked- written, some may be your personal questions. Don't try to answer them. It'll drive you crazy. Trust her. Her? Her.
She writes.
She types her perfect life. She pushes down on each key, each button to create her perfect life. Of course her perfect life will never happen, well… never the one she creates, the one she imagines. Repeat. She types about a couple, high school students, totally in love, kisses, touches, intimacy, good friends, parents, brothers, sisters, college, happiness, children, pregnancy, a big house, no money worries, irony, romance, cheese. She knows this isn't a realistic life, but she hopes as she watches those seemingly happy couples and families. She watches the cute couple videos on you tube to get inspiration and couples who pass her by in the halls. Do they know? No. Questions. You just got your answer, right? Not to the direct question but to the question why? Or didn't you see the question hidden in the text, not the direct words, not the simple words but the question within the words.
Her fingers move but this is the only things where she is glad she can move, to type. Without typing, without creating. Where would she be? She's not sure she's knows herself so how could you guess or know the answer.
This story will get you thinking about if your answering questions that don't have an answer. Or will this story get you thinking about how confusing words can be, or how they don't make sense when there typed or written down. Or will this story get you questioning people in there mind? You don't know an answer to that, how could you when the person doesn't know. Is she making sense. Again… she? No again, no repeat. Again shouldn't be there but she's typed it, she's written that one word because it felt right at the time, only a few seconds ago but something made her type, write, think that so why would she change it, alter it? That isn't what she said before though. She said her. No need to change a word when she write about that word. Hm. Questions. Why write about a word? You can't answer it… remember why? Does she need to repeat? No. It's there. The answer, well so it seems- if you look hard enough or is that just your assumption? Is there an answer?
She's thinks.
There's a bed- a double, the sheets ruffled, evidence of someone recently sleeping or resting on it, the head: pushed up against the wall. No boy, why would there be? The walls a faded red. Any significance? Not when first picked but now, maybe… A nightstand both sides of that bed, two lamps either side, on top. Lighting up the room a little but not brightly, a dull light. The closet, the doors slightly a jar, giving a peak to the outside of the clothes stuffed in there along with shoes. That also pressed up to the faded red wall. Faded red. Repeat. Thinking why? A desk also present, pushed up on the spare wall, perpendicular to the balcony, cluttered with paper, pens, a laptop- open- a blank screen. The wall which the closet is pressed against has a door in it, leading to a small bathroom. A shower, toilet, sink, bath. Basic. Tiled floor. Cream carpet in the bedroom. Did you think of a bedroom before? She never said it was at the beginning. Why go into that much detail about a room? Not enough detail maybe? Why question a bedroom? Her bedroom.
Sits, stands, lays, writes, bedroom. Repeat.
School.
Normal, happy, typical, crush, friends, work. Is she describing her life or the perfect life? There is an answer to this one but like she said, she's not going to answer the questions. Life is a question or full of questions?
No other significant rooms in her house, none that mean anything except maybe the family room and the bathroom. Why? She knows so you can guess the answer, she won't tell you if your right though. Probably won't drive you insane. Drives her insane: The un- answered questions, the un-answerable questions.
A boy. One boy. Only ever been one boy.
She moves over to her desk, sits and pressed the power button which is situated at the top of her laptop- above the keys. She moves. Did she hate it? Did she wish she hadn't? Only her mind knows, her mind loves escaping into confusing worlds when she's laying in bed and her mind loves escaping to this dream worlds when she's typing, making beautiful words fly from her fingertips, making an epic story but she always deletes them once finished no matter how long it takes for her to finish a story. She's deleted all but one. The real one. Who wants a writer who writes about fake things? About things that could never happen? A lot. It's called escapism. However, her mind has corrupted that and believes she should only keep real stories so she types and deletes.
That was an answer. That was a rarity. Maybe. She's not sure if she answers her questions. Does that contradict this story completely? Maybe. But this is just a story, right? Made up. False. Maybe.
Her story will continue but for now she has escaped, she's writing. Nobody knows what happens when she writes. She escapes. Yes. But where too and why? An unanswered question again. Has this story had many answered questions which are said too be unanswered? Who knows. Like I said: Nobody knows the answer if the person themselves doesn't. Repeat… or is that wrong, incorrect? Which bit is she talking about? Exactly, nobody knows. Confused? Yes? No?
Short? Yes. No. Maybe.