Hmm, I'm currently trying to write and publish a novel, but I've only written the prologue, which this is. However, I've written short summaries for Chapters 1 to 5, and already figured out the ending, and last chapter. I'm also trying to incorporate pictures for important scenes in each chapter, but am having trouble with that. So just tell me what you guys think, and how I can improve my story.
'.
rologue:.'
Reality, depicted by us humans as a sense of what is real. Though, for me, I am not sure on what to believe. How are we supposed to know what is real, and what is not. What if, we are not real. What if the world isn't real. This is what is currently running through my mind. Because, you see, I've been dragged into something that would normally ruin a persons sense of realism, yet I am coping. What if, we were just the characters of some persons story, what would you do? Knowing that everything you do, is just a will done by somebody writing your life. I myself have run into a place where I'm thinking the protagonist of a story. I'm not sure how it will turn out, but I can only record my life, and hope someone takes it to heart. So to whoever reads this, know that it is not a story, but a journal of what might possibly be finding the illusion of reality.
It happened two weeks ago, after club activities were over. I had spent the day thinking of what to write about. "A good story needs a good main character. Write a description of your main character, and maybe even do a drawing of what he looks like. Everyone hand in their work tomorrow." I said to myself, mimicking our club advisor. I couldn't think of one, and my character introduction was due the next day. I felt I should get some rest, and maybe wake up refreshed. I took, what was supposed to be a short nap, and woke up late at night. Still not being able to think of a good character design, I decided to base him off me, with a number of changes. First, I gave him a white highlight on his right sideburn. Afterwards, I made him 5'8, and 130 lbs. I gave him a kind of sharp face like mine, but more enthusiastic. I told myself "That's good enough, whatever." I was quite thirsty, and had no more drinks in the fridge, so i decided to go down to the cornerstone to get one. Big mistake, but I didn't know at the time. I went down and bought a litre of Kaloa, a citrus drink I've loved since I was a little kid. It was really late, just as I left the store, the street lights went out, and I had to go home in the near pitch black darkness.
Although it was night, the air was dry and brittle, the ground like a cement desert. I hopped a fence and began walking, almost hiking, up the back-alley that lead to my house. Slowly going up the long, nearly pitch black, secluded road, I felt secure. No people to cloud my thoughts, no light to distort my vision. It was as if I were in my own little world. Though, the trance was abruptly broken, as I began to smell something, a thick stench that was a bit like rusted iron. I tried not to think about it, and kept walking. The night became silent, even my brain was quiet. My nose, heavy, as if there was an iron bar hanging not an inch from it. Nauseating, the word seemed to echo through my brain, and would sometimes escape my mouth. My footsteps sounded very repetitive to my ears, after hearing my feet quietly, and almost non-existent, splashing in the puddles on the way up. Splashing…puddles? The moment those thoughts came to my head, it struck me, like lightning hitting a tree. My vision began to fade, clarity worsened, couldn't think, thoughts faded, and I collapsed…
It was hot, yet wet. I felt the sun on my face, but a wetness falling upon my body. I gained full consciousness, although I felt like I was in a vivid dream and asked myself, "What happened?". I opened my eyes, and found that I was covered in blood. I looked up, it was sunny as can be, but there was but one cloud. It was the oddest cloud I thought I'd ever see, coloured red, and with an awkward shape. Blood, the cloud seemed as if it were filled with it. As I tried to sit upright, an intense surge of pain flowed throughout my body. I tried to scream, but my voice would not come out, it could not. I laid back down, looked straight up at the bright, blue sky… I hated it, cursed it. I felt as if the sky was watching me. Very instantaneously, the cloud emptied itself all at once, it was not even like rain, but more like a bath tub being tipped over. Much of it landed beside me. I turned my head to the right, where much of the so called rain fell, and there it was, a body. I tried to focus my eyes, and at last, when I did, my eyes shuddered, this man had half his skull torn off. I wanted to turn away, but I couldn't, I was frozen. All I could do was stare at this person, and wonder if that was going to happen to me. He was wearing a long sleeve shirt, torn on the right, with the number twenty one tattooed on it. On his black pants were the numbers six and five. Beside him, was a large bunny mask. I wondered if he worked at a carnival. He looked like he was sleeping, and didn't even notice what hit him. I noticed a beer bottle, half empty in his hand. He was probably drunk when he died. It was then that my brain and body decided to realize what I had just gone through. The only thing I could hear was my dry breath. I felt uneasy, as if something was coming for me. I decided to get up, and find out what happened to myself.
I sat up, my body roared in pain, but I would not lie back down and wait for death. "Get up!", I yelled at myself what must have been a couple hundred times. Using all my strength, I pushed myself over and got onto my knees, then caught my breath. My breath was extremely heavy, and I tasted blood in my throat, thinking I must have lost a lot of blood, but that didn't stop me. I slowly got back to my feet, and off in the distance, I saw my house. For a moment, I thought I was going insane. Looking left, then right. There were no houses anywhere in sight, only broken down power lines and cars that have rusted. Behind me, the alley went on for miles. My eyes bolted in all directions, my head turned around hundreds of times. After calming down a bit, I moved my head around again, there was no pain. Had my injury healed that fast? I ran to to my house, shot through the door, and headed straight for the phone. There was no dial tone, I could not call for help. Cold sweat trickled down my neck, so I headed to the washroom to check my condition. One glance at the mirror, and I knew I was dreaming, I had to be. In the mirror was not me, but my character. Before I could say anything, I collapsed, and passed out.
7 am. I woke up as usual, and got ready as usual. It wasn't until I was getting my breakfast ready that I remembered everything that had happened to me last night. A dream, a very vivid, and weird dream. I told myself this multiple times as I continued to get ready for school. I went to grab my homework from my desk, but noticed a large white envelope, that had a fancy red border around it. "From Syst3m.", I read aloud. After pausing for a second about what kind of prank this was, I opened it. In it was a paper, and a black touch screen tablet. I read the paper, "Welcome novelist hopeful, to Story World. We help writers who are having a hard time with their novels, and you're one of the lucky participants. We hope your story goes as planned. Please be careful.". I reread the last two lines over and over, but could not understand what they meant. I took a look at the tablet, and nearly dropped it. "Take control of your character, and create your story from within. Be sure to carry this special item with you at all times. On the other side, was my character, and at the bottom right, on the very corner of the screen, was a book icon. I clicked it, and much to my surprise and horror, the events of what was supposed to be just a dream showed up. I hardly understood, but I knew one thing was for sure, I could feel it. My career as a novelist would begin, or disappear before it even started...
'.
rologue:.'Reality, depicted by us humans as a sense of what is real. Though, for me, I am not sure on what to believe. How are we supposed to know what is real, and what is not. What if, we are not real. What if the world isn't real. This is what is currently running through my mind. Because, you see, I've been dragged into something that would normally ruin a persons sense of realism, yet I am coping. What if, we were just the characters of some persons story, what would you do? Knowing that everything you do, is just a will done by somebody writing your life. I myself have run into a place where I'm thinking the protagonist of a story. I'm not sure how it will turn out, but I can only record my life, and hope someone takes it to heart. So to whoever reads this, know that it is not a story, but a journal of what might possibly be finding the illusion of reality.
It happened two weeks ago, after club activities were over. I had spent the day thinking of what to write about. "A good story needs a good main character. Write a description of your main character, and maybe even do a drawing of what he looks like. Everyone hand in their work tomorrow." I said to myself, mimicking our club advisor. I couldn't think of one, and my character introduction was due the next day. I felt I should get some rest, and maybe wake up refreshed. I took, what was supposed to be a short nap, and woke up late at night. Still not being able to think of a good character design, I decided to base him off me, with a number of changes. First, I gave him a white highlight on his right sideburn. Afterwards, I made him 5'8, and 130 lbs. I gave him a kind of sharp face like mine, but more enthusiastic. I told myself "That's good enough, whatever." I was quite thirsty, and had no more drinks in the fridge, so i decided to go down to the cornerstone to get one. Big mistake, but I didn't know at the time. I went down and bought a litre of Kaloa, a citrus drink I've loved since I was a little kid. It was really late, just as I left the store, the street lights went out, and I had to go home in the near pitch black darkness.
Although it was night, the air was dry and brittle, the ground like a cement desert. I hopped a fence and began walking, almost hiking, up the back-alley that lead to my house. Slowly going up the long, nearly pitch black, secluded road, I felt secure. No people to cloud my thoughts, no light to distort my vision. It was as if I were in my own little world. Though, the trance was abruptly broken, as I began to smell something, a thick stench that was a bit like rusted iron. I tried not to think about it, and kept walking. The night became silent, even my brain was quiet. My nose, heavy, as if there was an iron bar hanging not an inch from it. Nauseating, the word seemed to echo through my brain, and would sometimes escape my mouth. My footsteps sounded very repetitive to my ears, after hearing my feet quietly, and almost non-existent, splashing in the puddles on the way up. Splashing…puddles? The moment those thoughts came to my head, it struck me, like lightning hitting a tree. My vision began to fade, clarity worsened, couldn't think, thoughts faded, and I collapsed…
It was hot, yet wet. I felt the sun on my face, but a wetness falling upon my body. I gained full consciousness, although I felt like I was in a vivid dream and asked myself, "What happened?". I opened my eyes, and found that I was covered in blood. I looked up, it was sunny as can be, but there was but one cloud. It was the oddest cloud I thought I'd ever see, coloured red, and with an awkward shape. Blood, the cloud seemed as if it were filled with it. As I tried to sit upright, an intense surge of pain flowed throughout my body. I tried to scream, but my voice would not come out, it could not. I laid back down, looked straight up at the bright, blue sky… I hated it, cursed it. I felt as if the sky was watching me. Very instantaneously, the cloud emptied itself all at once, it was not even like rain, but more like a bath tub being tipped over. Much of it landed beside me. I turned my head to the right, where much of the so called rain fell, and there it was, a body. I tried to focus my eyes, and at last, when I did, my eyes shuddered, this man had half his skull torn off. I wanted to turn away, but I couldn't, I was frozen. All I could do was stare at this person, and wonder if that was going to happen to me. He was wearing a long sleeve shirt, torn on the right, with the number twenty one tattooed on it. On his black pants were the numbers six and five. Beside him, was a large bunny mask. I wondered if he worked at a carnival. He looked like he was sleeping, and didn't even notice what hit him. I noticed a beer bottle, half empty in his hand. He was probably drunk when he died. It was then that my brain and body decided to realize what I had just gone through. The only thing I could hear was my dry breath. I felt uneasy, as if something was coming for me. I decided to get up, and find out what happened to myself.
I sat up, my body roared in pain, but I would not lie back down and wait for death. "Get up!", I yelled at myself what must have been a couple hundred times. Using all my strength, I pushed myself over and got onto my knees, then caught my breath. My breath was extremely heavy, and I tasted blood in my throat, thinking I must have lost a lot of blood, but that didn't stop me. I slowly got back to my feet, and off in the distance, I saw my house. For a moment, I thought I was going insane. Looking left, then right. There were no houses anywhere in sight, only broken down power lines and cars that have rusted. Behind me, the alley went on for miles. My eyes bolted in all directions, my head turned around hundreds of times. After calming down a bit, I moved my head around again, there was no pain. Had my injury healed that fast? I ran to to my house, shot through the door, and headed straight for the phone. There was no dial tone, I could not call for help. Cold sweat trickled down my neck, so I headed to the washroom to check my condition. One glance at the mirror, and I knew I was dreaming, I had to be. In the mirror was not me, but my character. Before I could say anything, I collapsed, and passed out.
7 am. I woke up as usual, and got ready as usual. It wasn't until I was getting my breakfast ready that I remembered everything that had happened to me last night. A dream, a very vivid, and weird dream. I told myself this multiple times as I continued to get ready for school. I went to grab my homework from my desk, but noticed a large white envelope, that had a fancy red border around it. "From Syst3m.", I read aloud. After pausing for a second about what kind of prank this was, I opened it. In it was a paper, and a black touch screen tablet. I read the paper, "Welcome novelist hopeful, to Story World. We help writers who are having a hard time with their novels, and you're one of the lucky participants. We hope your story goes as planned. Please be careful.". I reread the last two lines over and over, but could not understand what they meant. I took a look at the tablet, and nearly dropped it. "Take control of your character, and create your story from within. Be sure to carry this special item with you at all times. On the other side, was my character, and at the bottom right, on the very corner of the screen, was a book icon. I clicked it, and much to my surprise and horror, the events of what was supposed to be just a dream showed up. I hardly understood, but I knew one thing was for sure, I could feel it. My career as a novelist would begin, or disappear before it even started...
![[Image: sci_fi_cowboys_by_xyogd-d4oe3fx.png]](https://orig03.deviantart.net/dfa1/f/2016/255/f/5/sci_fi_cowboys_by_xyogd-d4oe3fx.png)
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