Prologue: Written in the stars
The air around London was the sort that nibbled at the bare tips of your fingers and sent shivers down your spine – bent from hanging over a desk all day, every day, in that miserable life you led. Prestigious people paraded down the busy streets, taking their life in their hands as they crossed the hectic roads, whilst the homeless people sat outside beautiful architecture, mumbling about the saddening events in their life, devoured by insanity and lack of luxury. Nobody stopped to admire the lights that glimmered in shop windows or on the large TV screens, as the novelty of them had worn over time. The streets weren't paved with gold, but with grey cement that had been penetrated by heavy briefcases being slammed down onto them, and the high heels of women clip clopping along the way to the jobs which were the most important thing to them if they longed to stay in such a beautifully dismal place.
A man with messy flaxen hair and cynical emerald eyes stood in the aged doorway of an old bookshop, shrugging his thick trench coat further over his shoulders and shivering as he looked over the scene of a night in London town. A visible puff of air escaped his blue lips, and he adjusted his plaid scarf over his face, trapping whatever warmth he could find in the chilling atmosphere. He stuck out like a sore thumb, what with his standing still and refusing to follow the endless crowd of people like a lost sheep. Not many of the people there even knew that they were acting like sheep, as they had probably never seen one during their time spent hiding within these hoary bricks.
The man himself had seen sheep when he had lived in the rolling countryside with his family, back in Mid-Devon, Southwest England. In a way, he missed the lush green scenery and the obvious changings of the seasons appearing on the colours of the leaves; but, at the same time, he loved where he was right now. He loved his small, cheap apartment which was warm despite the cold attitude of his neighbours. He loved the streets paved with dents in the cement tiles and unnoticed lights in the disregarded buildings. He loved the cries of "Read all about it" sang by the enthusiastic paper boys and the roar of fancy cars heard at night. He loved it all because he'd never experienced such a life before, and after three years of living there, the novelty had still not worn off for him, and he doubted it ever would. This was the capital of his magnificent country after all, and he'd be damned if he overlooked the delights of it.
Arthur Kirkland finally decided that he'd been sticking out long enough, and so, pushed himself away from the bookshop he loved – the bookshop that smelt of aging paper and clean carpets, and felt like the unison of the worlds enclosed in those bindings that sat neatly and orderly along the high shelves. He moved away from that, onto the pavement, still refusing to flock quickly like a sheep with the crowd, instead ambling in his own sweet time, homeward, looking up at the clear, dark sky as he did so. He sighed, another visible puff of air escaping, his thick eyebrows creasing, as he realised how much he missed the stars.
Alfred rolled over slightly to look out of the window, out at the night sky. It was empty, and dark, and had an air of loneliness about it. Just like Alfred himself.
Was the person meant for him looking at that exact same sky right at that moment?
Would he ever find that person meant for him?
He would have wished for it, if only there were stars to wish upon.
Arthur sighed serenely as he sat in his worn pea green armchair, sipping his warm cup of earl grey, with a pale hand placed on the book he expertly balanced upon his knee. It had turned out to be another good day in this beautiful town. He had awoken without feeling the least bit groggy, and it appeared that his shower had finally been fixed as it worked when he used it that morning. There had been a few tasty scones left at the nearby coffee shop that morning, and he had managed to sell a few books to a good home at the bookshop that day.
Those were the days he strived for always. Those orderly days that played out to benefit him. Days that were not interrupted by idiotic people or being late for a scheduled event or the sad spilling of food on his best blouse.
He looked away from his book at the moment, at the starless sky, taking another sip of his drink, enjoying the hot liquid that cascaded down his parched throat and left a refined taste on his tongue.
This longing to not lead a messy life was exactly why he was single. He had experienced past relationships where the partner always got in his way. A man he had used to date, a bloody Frenchman, had once made him late as he couldn't shift his weight off of him to get out of bed. A Ukrainian woman he once dated spent hours getting ready to go out, and was always so clumsy. Other relationships just got sick of his apparent "old man" behaviour and left him.
Good riddance. He scoffed at the memories of them.
No, Arthur Kirkland did not have the time for any needless company that would only hold him back rather than let him progress in life. He was perfectly happy the way he was, and did not crave a sudden change.
He would have wished for his life to stay this way, but there were no stars to wish upon.
Author's Notes:
Hello, guys! Sorry this is so bad, but it's my first ever prologue, so I didn't really know where I was going with it. Still, this site is all about improving your writing, right? Right. AnorexicWalrus~
Anyway, this is the prologue for an Alfred x Arthur story I'm writing. It's going to be my first, so please don't expect too much, but I hope you enjoy it all the same.
Can anyone guess why I called this prologue "Written in the stars"? Maybe there is deep meaning to it, concerning the fact that nothing is written as there are no stars, so the future of Alfred and Arthur shall be unpredictable. Or perhaps it's because of the constant, unintentional mentioning of stars? Go figure!
Thank you for reading!
