Chapter One

Her sneakers scuffed the cobble stone pavement, grinding the cuffs of her jeans into the muck. Humidity and drizzle flattened her hair against her face, the hoodie offered little protection. Her face scrunched into disgusted contempt as she passed the usual group of goths and emos drinking at the city fountain. Labels, all of them. Bandwagon cutters and mainstream rebels. Nothing more.

There is no such thing as an emo. You could be emotionally struggling, and depressed. You could have neurotic self destructive habits. But you don’t shove it into peoples’ faces. Who do you think you’re rebelling against? Rebels for the sake of rebelling, not even realizing it’s not even a rebellion anymore. Just annoying. The world is never going to see the truly emotionally damaged people. Because you don’t know about it until it’s too late. It’s the people you never would have expected it from. She smirked at the thought. “I never would have expected it”, what a pathetic statement. Shows how little the average person understands human pyschology.

She laughed. She socialized. She didn’t hide in colourless black. She didn’t cut. But she was dead. What was the purpose in life? Everyone claimed to have the answer, but it was all subjective. There is no objective answer. The only absolute in life lies in the lack of absolutes. She didn’t understand why people clung to evolution as a way of freedom, for that reduced the human race to nothing more than gathering molecules of chance and coincidence. She couldn’t fathom why people clung to a deity who gave so little. She believed in fate. She believed in supernatural. She even believed in purpose.

She just didn’t know what it was, nor understand it.

She saw the evil in the world. She recognized that peace was the exception, and war the rule. From two year olds fighting over a book to countries battling for more territory… everyone fought. The world may be full of good people, but at the core, everyone had potential to be evil, and most people acted on it.

Some people might consider her views those of a depressive pessimist.

She preferred to call it realism.

The sky darkened and the thunder rumbled. Why are humans drawn to the sublimity of nature? Why are we drawn to the supernatural and the mysterious?

She slunk through the front door, soaked through every layer, her sneakers squeaking with every step she took. Her parents were in the living room, talking in low voices. There was a third voice. The voice made her stop in her tracks. Something about the voice paralyzed every inch of her.

She had always believed in the supernatural. But she had never believed in angels, until she saw him.

Reviews

[Jamie Lee]

I love how this is philosophical--the theorizing the narrator does is enticing and I was interested through this entire first chapter. Every word you use seems perfectly calculated, meticulous almost, and the way you tie it all in with that final line is so incredibly intriguing.

I think this is the perfect introduction to a novel. Gives the reader insight to the way the narrator's mind works, and I like that. Oh, and I enjoyed your description of the 'emos'. Such truth to that second paragraph.

[darknewday]

A very good beginning. I love reading your work.