COMPLACENCY OF THE LEARNED
A Novel
Written by Rose Lalonde
Prologue
I congratulate whoever might be presently reading this story that I have penned, for their impeccable tastes for not only advanced writing, but also for spectacular tales. And also for somehow inexplicably acquiring my creative writing journal. I can only begin to imagine that a certain gentleman whose eyes are masked by a reflective black visage lies behind this mysterious acquisition.
I warn you immediately to take this book, carry it to your fireplace (avoid knocking over any urns that may prove humorously disastrous) and firmly place it within the writhing flames. It is not yet finished, nor has it been perfected, and is so, not fit for human eyes just yet. I kid you not, only I am permitted to gaze upon these frightening words that I have produced. I say frightening due to matters that may or may not be due to self-consciousness, rather than story content.
But, I don't assume that we're on the same page. I have no doubt that you disregarded my plea of purging the tome, and have continued upon your leisurely perusal of my fictitious novel. I was afraid that this much would be true. Before we begin, I would like to take this moment to give a brief synopsis, no, an explanation rather. I think I owe my readers, whoever you may, be this much.
I beseech you not to read too far into the story, or the ethereal links it shares with my mind. This is simply a "little" plot which occurred to me once in a dream. I do not know what exactly provoked this literary epiphany, but I feel that it is excessively important that I keep track of it for purposes that elude me.
To start off with, I am sure that there will be some sort of kerfuffle regarding one of the main characters of this story, Zazzerpan. I am fully aware that this is an existing character. Overbearingly so, if not inspired by the gargantuan effigy that my mother erected in our living room. Though I am under the legislative influence (much unlike my mother's alcoholic one) that copyright will allow me to recycle the name. In retrospect, it appears that her statue's daunting eminence that stands tall and alone in the room, may have been just what inspired me to make that particular character be the only to survive by the end of the story. I suppose I should have labeled that as a spoiler. But on the same note, I suppose that you should have ignited the book when I told you to. Maybe now you will reconsider your actions when someone requests something of you. Maybe.
Now on a personal note to my mother, if she happens to be the one reading this, I would like you to know another use for your cherished fermented beverages. It has come to my attention that they are exceptionally well at sustaining flames. This could be useful to you in fulfilling my previous demand. I also renounce my notions of congratulatory sarcasm and instead am silently judging you for snooping around my personal effects and taking it upon yourself to heartlessly tear through my stories with little care for my sanction. For the record I do not apologize for my comments that might be misconstrued as insults, as if you had not been prying, then you would have never known that they existed. Perhaps this will be a lesson to yourself as well about respecting others' paraphernalia.
The only thing that frightens me more than you perusing my personal objects, is that you will think that this story of wizards will be some sort of consent to purchase yet more imposing merchandise pertaining to them. This is not what is transpiring here. Frankly, I do not believe that I could stomach your advanced passive-aggressive antics if you actually realized that I did in fact enjoy wizards. I shudder to consider, and set the notion aside for my personal health.
I take solace in the fact that your inebriated state will prevent you from fully comprehending any of the content of this story, or this introduction. Hopefully my entirely justified assumptions of intoxicated illiteracy are correct, lest I be subject to the cursed grounding and lecture of a hundred vodka shots. Unless however you continue your sickening passive aggressive shenannigans and for some reason support this use of freedom of speech, and commend me for it. This is precisely what I would expect from you by now. Applaud me when I expect castigation.
Well played, mother. Confusing me before you have even made your move. You might just find this tale of chess amusing after all.
I suppose this is the final section of the prologue, in which I would likely leave a sentimental dedication. I have opted not to do this, as I have no clue who I might consecrate this story. My friends no doubt, would never take the time to even finish this verbose introduction, and I would prefer to leave my mother out of the running.
I devote it to myself, considering how I was the very person who managed to create it all, and if my suspicions are correct, in an abstract way of things, gave me the idea to start this trek. I do not wish to sound too overtly proud, but it seems to be the most sensible selection, while remaining within customary comportment.
Though, in reconsideration I think I will choose to give my deceased cat, Jaspers some sort of credit, considering he also received a cameo of sorts.
Psychological anomalies and scarring not withstanding.
