The Losing End - Prologue, sort ofA Story by Bobby GarfieldAs indicated in the title, this is, well, some sort of prologue. Maybe I'll write more at some point. I've always wanted to write a prologue. Hope you like it.Prologue, sort of
So where do we begin? Beginnings are arbitrary, and doesn't that sound cool? I´ll write it again: Beginnings are arbitrary. And I´m not merely being post-modernistic, hip and edgy here. I mean it; they really are arbitrary. I could start with my mother, who died when I was 24. But that would mean starting on a somewhat gloomy note: hospital-stuff, death-stuff, calls-in-the-middle-of-the-night-stuff, funeral-stuff, black umbrellas and rain. Don't wanna do that because - very much like with an album of a great rock band - I think you need something accessible at the beginning, something to lure them in and when you got them, you can do pretty much what you want. I could start with my childhood, the classical way; where I grew up, what my Dad used to say to me, the kids in school always did this and that, my first love, my first kiss, a sunset on an empty playground or whatever might be of interest. But: Ain´t that kind of boring? Maybe it´s better to just leave out the boring parts and cut to the chase. Time is money and all that. I could start with violence, at least there we have some momentum; action, smoking guns, crime and blood. But wouldn't that be rather confusing, without any exposition? Isn't it a golden rule of storytelling that you have to know who you are dealing with, to make the readers care about the outcome? The same with sex. There is potential for sex in this story; sex happened, it occurred from time to time. But I mean who really cares about sex, when there´s no context, just people, well, having sex? Maybe I'm a bit naive here, but, no, I can't bring myself to do that, it would somewhat feel like a cheap trick. Then I thought, well, maybe start with a woman. Yeah, I know. But when I think back, I always come back to Elena, and even though that might be kind of old-fashioned, it´s still true. Maybe I can afford some old-fashioned ness, I'm 35 now. I was born in Germany, the country of the poets and thinkers, of great inventors and musicians and painters, of beer and football, of Nazis and inner strife, of guilt and shame, of effective ways of separating the litter, of perpetual-ness and threatening boredom, of complacency, of unwillingness to change, of mild weather and abecedarian lists, of precise train schedules, of people always eager to become indignant, and of people desperately trying to ignore each other in the elevator. But before I get carried away, I´ll try to focus on Elena. Elena; why not start with her, then? With her and music maybe, because the music is your friend, always. © 2016 Bobby GarfieldFeatured Review
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