A foreword for forewords

A foreword for forewords

Standing here on the shorefront in this dismal and depressing small town made me realise, in which every day has a different point of realisation, that I was ever going to leave that dismal and depressing small town. With every wave which came crashing over the seemingly defenceless barricade came a strong feeling of angst towards myself. It was a periodic angst and would go away shortly, but in that moment I had a small pity party. It was my fault that I didn’t leave after sixth form, I had the opportunity to leave and explore the rest of this dismal and depressing country.

But to be honest that sounds like every other trademark angst novel which is aiming to discover a new form of identity. However, isn’t every book doing that very thing, a book often is a bunch of words bound together by some sort of page which shows a type of narrative, be it a narrative of knowledge but which the end of the book you should have learned something more than you didn't know at the beginning. Or as simple as the narrative of a character which passes through a variety of points in exchange for growing as a character. And either way, it will leave not only the character or narrator with a prescription for identity it also gives the reader another box to add to their identity. Another box you say well that must mean you subscribe to the ideal that you are more than just one identity, and yes that is what i think. If i had to go with the one identity then i would simply have the identity of me. However, as ia don't believe in the tight restraints of singularity identity maybe gotten from where you are born, what you eat and most importantly in my metaphor; what you read.

And it is my sincere apology to you, that it is my book that is going to change something for you. It is my identity which is woven within the tight mulch product which you are reading and in turn absorbing, you are now in this moment as much of a part of my identity as i am to you. Throughout this book my identity may leave with persistent question marks, irritations and just mere mumbles but let me reassure you, i had an identity when i started writing this and with all the most itterations a person can exclaim to a person, you most definatly had an identity from before reading this.

Most kindest of itterations,

Your faithfull and unsure author.

Chapter 1: Happy Half-Birthday

      
Chapter 1: Happy Half-Birthday
You know the song "I'm holding out for a hero"? Well, that was exactly what I tried to do. And you know what? I ended up with the bad boy but lucky for me, that was exactly what I needed.
So when I walked through the corridor with one hand in a packet of Tom crisps and the other; gripping a well-worn edition of Lowry's 'The Giver', and wall of bricks hit me, I knew it would be an extremely clear signal from any higher power that there was-and-is that something life-altering was going to happen.
It didn't matter to me from the moment I left my stance to when I hit the floor, that the wall was less brock and more organic material than anything. With my crisps scattered everywhere and my book falling apart over the floor, I didn't hesitate to swear in three languages and then proceed to pick up the remnants of my personality from being trampled on by the other abandoned souls. Souls whom traipse that same pathway every day; be it for work, school, leisure or adventure.
The next words which left my mouth were somewhat inexcusable;

"Excuse me! Did you purposely decide to plough through the corridor like Freddie Mercury in break-through or do you just walk everywhere monotonously because of all your blood is diverted to your steroid induced muscles?" I exclaimed in a rather forthwith manner, blocking out everyone in the corridor except the stranger and me.

When looking back on it my behaviour did seem somewhat arrogant. And to be honest it was my mind which was securely fixated on my upcoming birthday. I was born in the February of 1999, a cold and dreary day according to many of my nostalgic relatives. It is because of the time of this year that it has always either rained or snowed making what is supposed to be a joyous occasion, a rather melancholy one. So when my mother one summer made a flippant comment about how the 18th of August was half way to my birthday, so it would be better to throw a birthday party for me in the summer. And so I took those extremely wise words of wisdom and brought them to life, and so every year instead of celebrating my birthday in February, with a party inside and colourless, we celebrate it only in August, in the heat with a barbeque. It is this year's half-birthday party which was clouding my judgement to walk in a corridor without strewing my belongings in every direction as if Tracy Emin decided to recreate a Jackson Pollock painting. And so the pause button was release from its encapsulated narrative of my subconscious to carry on living in reality.

"For your information, these muscles are perfectly natural, homegrown and organic. And if you were paying attention I was not the ploughing one, it was you who seemed to be controlled by some external authority; to which place was your head at? Was it what you are going to eat for lunch or which fictitious character do you fancy in this current moment?" He spat in retaliation, all of which was said in one angry continuation, no break for a breath was needed as the pace somewhat matched his exhalation. Despite this raucous outburst, it wasn't hard to notice at second-glance his large dimple-inducing grin; an expression which seems to counterbalance his previous emotion of anger. Unfortunately, for anyone submitted to interacting with this strange and yet intriguing man, his grin was not the only perfect part of his face:
His Umber eyes twinkled in rhythm with his silent chuckle, his slight stubble improved his Adonis-like features and his stretching, tweed blazer emphasised his athletic build, to which those in line with stereotypes would consider a near-contradiction of society.

Both the reaction and the distraction were the reasons for me noticing that, after helping me up, he still had one hand on my waist, lingering as if I were at any moment to fall back down like paper in the wind. After sadly removing the hand, after noticing my line of sight, he carried on his tirade with another breath.

"I didn't realise that simply by walking in a straight line towards my intended destination I would end up being cut off by some insane woman with killer eyes and being forced to endure her stereotypical ramblings." This sentence more calculated than the last; rolled off his tongue as if he were born with those very words in his mouth.

"If you are finished, I am now going to excuse myself from your haphazardous presence to go back to my lecture. And if in the future you are wanting to do a re-enactment of what bomb's effect on a library is at least let it not be Lowry, let it be someone more worth the turmoil such as the ramblings of Kesey or Dickens," and with that he gathered himself in a sentinel-like stature and left my life.
It was in this moment that I thought that he would leave without looking back, never to be seen again. It would be later revealed that I was wrong in this supposition and that I would seem in on many other occasions throughout my life; each encounter increasing his mysteriousness and his charm.

Living life the way it should be

Dakota- Stereophonics

Pretty- Don Broco

One- Swedish House Mafia

Sex on Fire- Kings of Leon

 

   Do you ever like your are floating whilst drowning? Well, I do a lot. Its like I'm floating however, I cant breathe and I'm drowning whilst trying to rise to the surface. Well at the moment I am doing exams and well that is one main cause for this concerning feeling but, soon I'm going to be in the state where I don't actually belong to anywhere. I wont be a student at my sixth form anymore and I wont yet be classed as a University student.

  So I'm actually going to try and do as much as I can before I am university for 4 years. So far as I am now eighteen;

- I've gone to a party for the first time

- I have had a couple of hangovers

- I have bought a packet of cigarettes yet gave the majority of them away

- Played Frisbees like university students at a Hyde Park picnic.

 

So what to do next??

 

   That was the exact same question to which I asked my group of friends on Friday and well their response was to go to a gig with them. And so this evening I have bought tickets to see a band in November. Why not?

Boom! It's me

Little help from my friends- Jim Sturgess and Joe Anderson
I'm a believer- The monkees
I've been loving you too long- Otis Redding
Wherever you will go- The Calling

It never dawned on me until it happened in that moment of realisation, that my life was safe. But not a fun because is there really ever a fun safe. No, it is a boring safe. I live with my parents, every month I have dinner with my childhood best friend, I revise over 45 hours a week which is more than most people work and I am single. The only steam in my bedroom is when in the summer I may forget to open the bedroom window and yet this not what I want to be. I want to dye my hair with a funky haircut, I want to have a boyfriend or perhaps just a rotter of casual guys, to go on road trip with friends, festivals with siblings and to an international university to study creative writing or journalism instead of Education. Which the degree is utterly boring and leads you straight into a job whereas I am the most indecisive person. My gcses were geography, art, business and media. I could basically do anything short of a doctor and when I want to be a doctor I simply watch Greys Anatomy and pause it half way through to predict what condition the patient has.



 

Heart in a headlock (11/10/2016)

Williamette Stone- Never coming down
Group love- Tongue Tied
Andy Black- We don't have to dance
The Calling- Wherever you will go
Amy McDonald- This is the life
Santana Ft Rob Thomas- Smooth

It took every ounce in my body of strength of the protect myself from his bone shattering blows. Every time his left foot crept forward mine crept back. To those who were to watch it could just seem like were doing an extremely heated intricate dance but we were actually battling. Not in practise this time but to the death or at least 'til one yielded however, that meant they would be shunned by society. And it seemed with my recent snarls he seemed to slightly cower and at those moments I chose to strike back twice as hard as before and now he was beneath me and near yielding. But, with that he swooped me over onto my back and had me pressed into the floor, his abdomen pressing against mine and his hands pinning mine above my head. And with that he chose to in-between his heated breaths kiss me. Once on my clavicle, once on my neck and then my jaw and when I couldn't take it any more I leant forward and received his lips in a truly welcoming manner. Its a good thing that when I said I battling to the death or yield I was lying, and that was my true part in our group. 'The Lier'. I was in charge of the group that way if we needed an easy exit or admittance I could lie myself into any situation.

I learnt this from an early age as I once went to get an ice cream from the corner shop and didn't have enough money and some how I managed to convince the shop owner that he had to pay me everytime I asked for an ice cream and so I got freebies plus a constant flow of money. How it happened I don't know but according to Ches that was my power.

Everyone of my kind had a power; Ches was able to see into the future, Rudy is telekinetic and Rayna could fly. We can all interlink with each others minds however, I can read minds with The Other. When you are on of us you belong to a unit and so you all mirror each others talents and personalities and you can only link to those in your link however, I can link or flow into everyone. Some believe it is because both of my parents are Chronicles (powered individuals who were good compared the bad powered individuals Eventfuls), usually you have one Chronicle/Eventful parent but that's not the case with me. This extra power not only makes me the most talented in my unit but in both the whole Chronicle army and the whole of the Eventfuls' army.

 

So after Max and I had ended our fight and making up we went to the auditorium ready for our morning brief. Recently the Chronicles have been having increased attacks at meeting points, the first time it happened was two months ago, one of the Chronicle elite's was meeting a C.I. and there was no show and that was when he went missing, and then three days later his body was found in the river. Since then this pattern has been repeated five times.


To be Continued

Scarred for life (04/10/2016)

Gavin DeGraw- I don't want to be
Sugarcult- Do it alone
Blossoms- Charlemagne
Walk the Moon- Quesadilla
Empire of the Sun- Walking on a dream
Two Door Cinema Club - Are we ready? (Wreck)
Arctic Monkeys - When the sun goes down


It took me all day for me to find the mark that he gave me, it was in the most indisposable position that only a near domino effect of mirrors were able to reveal it. It was 3 inches long and to everyone else it would simply seem like a fresh scar but I knew better than them. I knew that it was my mark, that warned all who dared to even look in my direction that I belonged to him. For every other girl thing belonging would feel all mushy and sweet as the man should typically possessive of his mate however, to me it creeped me out; not only the whole marking ritual which was fine by me except for the biting on his counterpart but the fact that my first will be my last as well. How did our ancestors feel on their marriage night knowing they having even broken their vow and yet know that there will be only one for them. How is that only enough?
And I stood there for what seemed like hours, which in reality was only 5 minutes pondering about soul mates and if I truly believed in that whilst still standing in my near-nakedness. My hair looked as though I had been dragged through a bush backwards, luckily I didn't bother putting on make-up yesterday otherwise I would have looked like a cross between Alice Cooper and Cruella DeVille and though there were no visible bruises the passion from our last encounter had at the least bruised by muscles to extent that even Bridget Jones after cycling from her apartment down to Dorset would be crying.
But, my tears weren't from pain they were strangely from happiness though for the life of me I didn't understand why. Obviously why body needs to tell my emotions what exactly I'm feeling before displaying it.