Hii!

Imagine myself winking right now. Do it.

Good.

Now, this: Is a perfect example of how not to start a book.

I say book,but we all no it's just a damn shitty publication. It's not like the author will ever send this to an actual publisher, but hey. Lets just play pretend and say it's a physical book so it fits the story better.

And here I am, spoiling you the end of the story already. Yeah. I'm doing it. In fact, I'm doing it right now. The end is shit. I won't lie on it. And there will be a lot of plot twists and character deaths before the end. The actual end ? Oh don't worry. We're all going to die. All of us. Well maybe not you. At least not now. There's no way you'll die on me before you even finished reading this litterature filth that's calling itself a book. While it's not. No fucking way. The end is something you just can't miss, because I'll get back to life just after I first died, indulcing the reader in thinking I actually was dead, but realy wasn't.

Ha. I did it. I spoiled you.

Alright so maybe this was not the best idea i've ever had. So what. It's not like you get to say anything about this or can actualy act on it can you? Of course not. All you are is an oblivious and useless reader so here. Enjoy my story, ungrateful human parcel. I'm all ink and paper on you and let yourself get overwhelmed with it.

First things first, let's get to the beginning:

There were a lot of things unusual about this place. When you first get in it seems like everything's okay, but after a while you start noticing things that shouldn't be this way. You're in one of the uncountable rooms of that weird hotel called 'Spice it'. Don't even ask where the name came from. It's probably a gross sex story that nobody should dare trying to understand the twisted minds of the two mates. Eh eh. This city looked charming from the little publicity board you've found, in one of the coffe place, at your home town.

You hear thunder before you even dare seeing its lightning. There's a dog in the rain, waiting by a window of the front's building. He's looking at the pourring sky tears reflecting on a bench. It doesn't seems like anyone's going to get it. It must be alone. A bit like you right now. It opens its jaw, but you hear no barks. This place is so uncoordinated it's freaking you out. But then again, when are you not?

You might as well just go wandering off in the hotel instead of staying put here, stalking the nothingness of this street, but then. People might be outside of your room and you can't go for now.

You walk away from your previous spot before taking a jacket. It's confy and smells of old leather. You take the time to look for your wallet and your cellphone, but end up only grabbing keys and your pair of gloves. There's nothing worth spending money on it and you can't even get a single phone signal. All you get is the usual sounds that tells you the line's been cut. Maybe it's not the actual signal and you just forgot to pay the bill. Who knows. Not you, that's for sure.

You take one last look at your room before puting on your glasses and heading for the door. You wait in front of it for a moment. You don't hear anyone outside, but there might be a chance there actualy are people and you just can't hear them. It's been several minutes now.

It's about time you actualy do something so you open your door and quickly lock it. Having a room on the sixth floor may means there will be less turbulance than on the first floor, but the elevator being broken, you can't help, but regret the fact of yourself even considering renting this place for a week. What kind of use is it anyways. I sleep like a dead man. It's not like some little noise will disturb my beauty sleep or something.

You finaly convince yourself to go downstairs and stops by the entrance to look for someone. There's this creepy old man that always starts looking weird at some people . You guess you'll have to deal with not knowing where you're headed, because there's no way you'll try starting, even if infinitecimally, any kind of conversation with him.

Once you get out, it's still raining, but not as much as ten minutes ago, meaning you won't get soaked to your bones from a little walk outside. You notice that the dog from before's gone and can't help, but wonder where it could have went. Then again, this is none of your business. This is dog's business so keep your nosy self to your actual self.

There's nobody, but you in the middle of the street. You hear cars, but see nones. the faint lightnings scratching the sky are the only visual attraction out there. You decide you'll head north from your place before you start fossilizing in here.

You pass by a lot of small stores that all seemed to be closed, but then again, you don't give up and continue walking and walking until you get to a suspicious mailbox. It takes everything in you not to open it, but it's also taking all of your selfcontrol away so you don't opend it to investigate its content. It would not be right, socialy. At least, when you do it with a computer you don't look like a creep and no one know you've done it. Digging in a stranger's things in public would definetly be weird, knowing you could be spotted.

'' There's nothing worth it in this mailbox..'' Said a perky voice.

You're not crazy. You know someone talked. Said an actual sentence. And not only they talked, but they talked to 'you'. You turn around, not seeing anyone. It should not be surprising since you already knew there was no one else but you outside.

Then why the fuck are you still hearing this same voice chuckling !?

''Aw don't get all obnoxious with that language of yours! It may be fun to watch, but I actualy need you to be attentive!''

You're starting to fume and sudenly you're falling. You lost your balance. A normal reaction for someone who just got an 'in real life' jumpscare of a girl, two inches from your face, her grin going ear to ear. The only thing is:

You don't touch the ground. Instead you hear another feminine voice calling your name and pointing a door.

Your name is 'SOLLUX CAPTOR' and you think you may be in a waiting room. At least you were, since now you're sitting on some weird couch-chair like in those therapy scenes in movies and there's this little guy starring at you with his glasses like he just can't believe your face.