Forte
New member
I've been mentally working on a series of novels for at least a year and a half now. I have backstories for characters, plotlines, all that, pretty much everything plotted out in my head for several books in the series. This is a particular entry that essentially takes place in medias res, but written in such a way that makes it understandable. I plan on spending a good amount of time this summer fully fleshing everything out and starting from the beginning.
This particular novel takes place a good bit further down the road, in terms of where it places in the overall story. There is a lot of backstory that is not touched upon, but only hinted at. If I can organize all my notes and everything, I plan on starting out from the beginning and eventually getting to this point. Until then, enjoy the prologue.
EDIT: Oh, something I forgot to mention. This style that I am writing in is heavily influenced by the "light novel" style that you see frequently in Japanese culture. Knowing that, I will be using Japanese names throughout, though many do crossover well to English and shouldn't be too difficult for you, as the reader, to understand, even if you have no prior experience with Japanese-influenced media.
I usually enjoy rainy days.
He expressed this thought in his mind. He had been wandering in this stormy weather for some time. Not that he did not have a place to go; he had been slowly meandering to his abode for some time. He simply needed some time away from the familiar memories that his room brought up. Photographs lined his dressers and his computer hard drive. These images contained a face that he did not particularly want to see, lest his heart feel that stabbing feeling that so typically accompanies the loss of a loved one.
This thought hit him hard, and he felt that oh-so-familiar feeling yet again. He clutched at his chest, but remained stoic, which was the response that he grew accustomed to making since that sorrowful day. He couldn't help feeling this way; it was normal to experience these feelings at a time like this, right? But the pain never lessened, and in fact, grew exponentially in certain situations.
He hid his torment from his friends and Mom. Surely they would understand, he had no doubts about that. But he was personally conditioned to never show painful emotions in front of people. He simply did not want the attention. What he wanted was to be left alone to his thoughts. His life was melancholy in that manner.
But his thoughts were what was hurting him at this time. It had only been a few weeks since that cursed day. It was one of the most painful days he had ever gone through. Instinctively, he felt for the memento dangling around his neck.
The cross necklace. The one she had given to him as a present. The most important object she had owned, the only reminder of her parents that she possessed... and she had given it to him before she passed.
He felt so wretched. Who was he to receive such an important item from her? It made him realize that he had been one of the most important people in her life. Perhaps the most important, after God. She had certainly become one of the most important people in his life, certainly his best friend. His other friends were certainly close, but they had not touched his life in the way that she had.
He had just come from visiting her grave, as a matter of fact. He decided to walk there instead of getting a ride. He thought it better to be left alone when visiting and reminiscing since he didn't want to cause an inconvenience to anybody with him.
Or perhaps not. Perhaps he selfishly wanted time to himself and with his memories of her. He certainly had no lack of support from his loved ones, this was a fact he couldn't dispute. But it became stifling. He almost felt as if he didn't have any freedom left, always being doted upon by them. He didn't begrudge them for that, as he did realize that they cared and only wanted to help him. But sometimes people need to be left well enough alone. They should have understood his personality by now.
Whatever the reason, he had left on his own. His silenced cell phone showed that he missed calls from each of them. He knew they were only looking out for him. But he could apologize later. They would understand. He decided to listen to a few of the voice messages they left.
*beep*
“Kei, dear, why did you leave without telling me? I would have taken you if you had simply asked... please call and tell me you're alright.”
His Mom. He had worried her, he knew. Simply leaving a note wouldn't suffice for her.
*beep*
“Kei... your Mother has been worried sick about you. We know you're hurting still... but you should come to us if you need someone to cry with. You know I'm always here... you know I understand exactly what you're going through...”
Naomi. She was a sweet girl, someone he had been instantly captivated by. He knew he could have come to her for help, but... he didn't want to be a bother to her. He didn't want his sadness to bring up the painful memories of the trauma she had endured in her past. She doesn't need to be burdened by his troubles.
He stepped off the curb and sighed. He surveyed his surroundings. He was close enough to home, but he almost wished he had procured a ride. This rain was relentless, and it didn't exactly consist of soft sprinkles. He wearily turned towards his home, the accursed apartment that he didn't want to see at the moment. It wasn't a bad place, but the memories...
He started getting lost in his thoughts again. He didn't quite understand how someone could be such a victim to her genetics. Because that was really what caused her death. The accident itself wasn't life-threatening, though the bloody image of her body that was forever burnt into his memory certainly looked serious. But she recovered fairly well, to the point where she was coherent and conscious.
So why did she die so quickly thereafter? Perhaps the loss of blood irritated her condition even more. She had been experiencing more frequent symptoms of dizziness and sickness moreso than usual. Perhaps these factors all played a part? It was a frustrating position to be in, not being able to understand the rhetoric that those doctors spun out from their mouths. He was no geneticist, nor was he a scientist in any sense of the occupation.
But he knew the ultimate reason for her early demise. God simply wanted her to come home, simple as that. He accepted this answer, and certainly held no ill-will towards God for doing such a thing. How could he be angry at the Almighty? But he still felt the pain, and he believed that God would understand the intense period of mourning that he was going through. He just prayed constantly that the pain would lessen over time...
Being so engrossed in his thoughts, it's no wonder that he never saw this impending disaster coming. He had not noticed that he had been slowly making his way across the street. He barely saw the near-instrument of his demise at the last minute, swerving around on the unsteady street. Having toned his body over the years in the areas of strength and agility and having become used to quick-thinking, he was able to almost super-humanly dodge out of the way, barely saving himself from becoming a new hood ornament on the vehicle.
However, no amount of preparation could have prepared anybody for their skull having a direct, sudden impact with cement.
He honestly didn't know what hit him (or what he hit, for that matter). He simply lay there. He knew something warm was pulsating out of his head, but he wasn't able to move a muscle to stop it. His thought process wasn't exactly proceeding logically in a coherent manner. He just knew something hurt, but he was so dazed that he couldn't even let out a scream of pain.
He simply did nothing. He let unconsciousness overtake him. He fell to the peaceful slumber that it brought.
***
He did not remember being picked up off of the street. Nor did he have any recollection of anything before or after that. It was as if his existence was simply blotted out of his mind. All his memories were gone, replaced with a fabrication that only he knew and would understand, had he been himself.
He had awoken to mere confusion. People had surrounded his hospital bed. Two teenagers, a blond girl with twintails and a guy whose strange hair he could only describe as ash-colored. Another woman was there as well, who looked as if she had been doing a lot of crying recently. The guy had called for the doctor to come in, hurriedly proclaiming that he was finally awake.
How many days had he been knocked out? Who were these people around him? Why did they keep calling him this strange name? Fuzzy as his memories were, he did not have any of this person they were talking about. He remembered a life that was absolutely different from the one that these strange people were spouting. So why did they insist on calling him by that name?
He finally couldn't take it anymore. His anger had always been a problem, and usually got the better of him in situations like these. He grabbed the nearest object he could and furiously threw it at the wall, careful not to multiply the situation by hurling it at the people. He angrily demanded to know who they were.
“Who are you people!? And why do you insist on calling me 'Kei'!?”
This particular novel takes place a good bit further down the road, in terms of where it places in the overall story. There is a lot of backstory that is not touched upon, but only hinted at. If I can organize all my notes and everything, I plan on starting out from the beginning and eventually getting to this point. Until then, enjoy the prologue.
EDIT: Oh, something I forgot to mention. This style that I am writing in is heavily influenced by the "light novel" style that you see frequently in Japanese culture. Knowing that, I will be using Japanese names throughout, though many do crossover well to English and shouldn't be too difficult for you, as the reader, to understand, even if you have no prior experience with Japanese-influenced media.
Sonorous Journey
Prologue
Prologue
I usually enjoy rainy days.
He expressed this thought in his mind. He had been wandering in this stormy weather for some time. Not that he did not have a place to go; he had been slowly meandering to his abode for some time. He simply needed some time away from the familiar memories that his room brought up. Photographs lined his dressers and his computer hard drive. These images contained a face that he did not particularly want to see, lest his heart feel that stabbing feeling that so typically accompanies the loss of a loved one.
This thought hit him hard, and he felt that oh-so-familiar feeling yet again. He clutched at his chest, but remained stoic, which was the response that he grew accustomed to making since that sorrowful day. He couldn't help feeling this way; it was normal to experience these feelings at a time like this, right? But the pain never lessened, and in fact, grew exponentially in certain situations.
He hid his torment from his friends and Mom. Surely they would understand, he had no doubts about that. But he was personally conditioned to never show painful emotions in front of people. He simply did not want the attention. What he wanted was to be left alone to his thoughts. His life was melancholy in that manner.
But his thoughts were what was hurting him at this time. It had only been a few weeks since that cursed day. It was one of the most painful days he had ever gone through. Instinctively, he felt for the memento dangling around his neck.
The cross necklace. The one she had given to him as a present. The most important object she had owned, the only reminder of her parents that she possessed... and she had given it to him before she passed.
He felt so wretched. Who was he to receive such an important item from her? It made him realize that he had been one of the most important people in her life. Perhaps the most important, after God. She had certainly become one of the most important people in his life, certainly his best friend. His other friends were certainly close, but they had not touched his life in the way that she had.
He had just come from visiting her grave, as a matter of fact. He decided to walk there instead of getting a ride. He thought it better to be left alone when visiting and reminiscing since he didn't want to cause an inconvenience to anybody with him.
Or perhaps not. Perhaps he selfishly wanted time to himself and with his memories of her. He certainly had no lack of support from his loved ones, this was a fact he couldn't dispute. But it became stifling. He almost felt as if he didn't have any freedom left, always being doted upon by them. He didn't begrudge them for that, as he did realize that they cared and only wanted to help him. But sometimes people need to be left well enough alone. They should have understood his personality by now.
Whatever the reason, he had left on his own. His silenced cell phone showed that he missed calls from each of them. He knew they were only looking out for him. But he could apologize later. They would understand. He decided to listen to a few of the voice messages they left.
*beep*
“Kei, dear, why did you leave without telling me? I would have taken you if you had simply asked... please call and tell me you're alright.”
His Mom. He had worried her, he knew. Simply leaving a note wouldn't suffice for her.
*beep*
“Kei... your Mother has been worried sick about you. We know you're hurting still... but you should come to us if you need someone to cry with. You know I'm always here... you know I understand exactly what you're going through...”
Naomi. She was a sweet girl, someone he had been instantly captivated by. He knew he could have come to her for help, but... he didn't want to be a bother to her. He didn't want his sadness to bring up the painful memories of the trauma she had endured in her past. She doesn't need to be burdened by his troubles.
He stepped off the curb and sighed. He surveyed his surroundings. He was close enough to home, but he almost wished he had procured a ride. This rain was relentless, and it didn't exactly consist of soft sprinkles. He wearily turned towards his home, the accursed apartment that he didn't want to see at the moment. It wasn't a bad place, but the memories...
He started getting lost in his thoughts again. He didn't quite understand how someone could be such a victim to her genetics. Because that was really what caused her death. The accident itself wasn't life-threatening, though the bloody image of her body that was forever burnt into his memory certainly looked serious. But she recovered fairly well, to the point where she was coherent and conscious.
So why did she die so quickly thereafter? Perhaps the loss of blood irritated her condition even more. She had been experiencing more frequent symptoms of dizziness and sickness moreso than usual. Perhaps these factors all played a part? It was a frustrating position to be in, not being able to understand the rhetoric that those doctors spun out from their mouths. He was no geneticist, nor was he a scientist in any sense of the occupation.
But he knew the ultimate reason for her early demise. God simply wanted her to come home, simple as that. He accepted this answer, and certainly held no ill-will towards God for doing such a thing. How could he be angry at the Almighty? But he still felt the pain, and he believed that God would understand the intense period of mourning that he was going through. He just prayed constantly that the pain would lessen over time...
Being so engrossed in his thoughts, it's no wonder that he never saw this impending disaster coming. He had not noticed that he had been slowly making his way across the street. He barely saw the near-instrument of his demise at the last minute, swerving around on the unsteady street. Having toned his body over the years in the areas of strength and agility and having become used to quick-thinking, he was able to almost super-humanly dodge out of the way, barely saving himself from becoming a new hood ornament on the vehicle.
However, no amount of preparation could have prepared anybody for their skull having a direct, sudden impact with cement.
He honestly didn't know what hit him (or what he hit, for that matter). He simply lay there. He knew something warm was pulsating out of his head, but he wasn't able to move a muscle to stop it. His thought process wasn't exactly proceeding logically in a coherent manner. He just knew something hurt, but he was so dazed that he couldn't even let out a scream of pain.
He simply did nothing. He let unconsciousness overtake him. He fell to the peaceful slumber that it brought.
***
He did not remember being picked up off of the street. Nor did he have any recollection of anything before or after that. It was as if his existence was simply blotted out of his mind. All his memories were gone, replaced with a fabrication that only he knew and would understand, had he been himself.
He had awoken to mere confusion. People had surrounded his hospital bed. Two teenagers, a blond girl with twintails and a guy whose strange hair he could only describe as ash-colored. Another woman was there as well, who looked as if she had been doing a lot of crying recently. The guy had called for the doctor to come in, hurriedly proclaiming that he was finally awake.
How many days had he been knocked out? Who were these people around him? Why did they keep calling him this strange name? Fuzzy as his memories were, he did not have any of this person they were talking about. He remembered a life that was absolutely different from the one that these strange people were spouting. So why did they insist on calling him by that name?
He finally couldn't take it anymore. His anger had always been a problem, and usually got the better of him in situations like these. He grabbed the nearest object he could and furiously threw it at the wall, careful not to multiply the situation by hurling it at the people. He angrily demanded to know who they were.
“Who are you people!? And why do you insist on calling me 'Kei'!?”
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