Authors Note: 'Ello there. Thanks for finding my ficcy. Not much to say.. if you like this read the rest of it! This is basically a prologue type thing of the story.
A Crooked Man
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There was a crooked man and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence upon a crooked stile.
He bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse.
And they all lived together in a little crooked house
A lone boy sat at a table bent over a book. His dark eyes scanned the pages of it, going from row to row, flipping a page and going on. He hunched over the book, looking like he would like to dip his face right into it and see what was really going on beyond the words. The sky darkened and brightened as he sat, shoulders and back bent awkwardly, starting to ache and become stiff. But he read on, totally enthralled by what was happening in the story. Its many twists and turns, leading you one-way and then another. The main character was brilliant. A honed mind. Sharper than any others.
The boy read on, his eyes burning and looking bruised from hours of fatigue. He read on and finally. The last page. And he closed the book and looked down at the back cover, his eyes excited as ever, bright and shining, despite his want of sleep. Sherlock Holmes was the book he had read. A tale of mystery and savagery. He picked himself up from his chair, shoulders and back aching, eyes burning.
And his mind. It was also on fire. As he looked out the window of his room, and out to the shadows of the coming morn and vowed to himself that he would be like that.
Figure out the mysteries that no one else could.
And he would be called L.