Status: currently on hold since I'm busy and all..
Lies, Laws and Love
Prologue
The paper crumpled slowly but steadily, the sound sometimes hollowly resounding for a split second, yet mostly muffled by his palm. Alongside his uneven, shallow breathing it was the only sound in the room that he was aware of. The tears that dropped onto the couch, out of unbelieving, wide eyes, were silent next to his breathing, the crumpling sound of the paper, the TV displaying the latest news on CNN. And yet they screamed of pain…
Desperation…
And hopelessness.
But they remained silent, revealing their message only to the one who shed them.
His knuckles had turned white from the effort of grabbing onto the paper, holding onto everything that it presented. A ringing sound invaded his thoughts and he blinked. For one blissful moment the hope that it was all a dream welled up inside him, filling his limbs with warmth, chasing the cold, numb feeling that he couldn’t yet name, away.
He told himself that his alarm-clock was ringing on his nightstand and he would wake up and everything would be over. The warmth vanished as soon as it had appeared, as he realized where the ringing was coming from. It wasn’t his alarm-clock. It was the phone.
His head hung low between his still shoulders, his eyes shielded from the world, unfocused until he noticed the paper again. His stomach lurched to his throat and he felt the need to vomit. But with a shaky breath, he kept it at bay. Instead he tried hastily to flatten out the paper again, bending it over his thigh, pulling on it carefully, as if it was the Constitution itself.
More tears fell, dribbling down his chin, staining the precious paper. In his frenzy to eradicate his doings, he didn’t notice, even as the tears blurred his sight.
After a while he gave up, a nauseating, sinking feeling settling in his stomach, realizing that his efforts were in vain and that he would not be able to restore the paper to its unharmed state. With shaking fingers, he held it up in front of his face and read the lines over and over. The tidy, curvy handwriting was clearly legible with its big letters, though the paper had welled up in some spots, where his tears had fallen. But still the words didn’t make sense. He felt as if he was attempting to read a foreign language, that looked like English, sounded like English, but wasn’t the English language he spoke, because he just couldn’t understand.
He didn’t understand anything anymore.
Desperation…
And hopelessness.
But they remained silent, revealing their message only to the one who shed them.
His knuckles had turned white from the effort of grabbing onto the paper, holding onto everything that it presented. A ringing sound invaded his thoughts and he blinked. For one blissful moment the hope that it was all a dream welled up inside him, filling his limbs with warmth, chasing the cold, numb feeling that he couldn’t yet name, away.
He told himself that his alarm-clock was ringing on his nightstand and he would wake up and everything would be over. The warmth vanished as soon as it had appeared, as he realized where the ringing was coming from. It wasn’t his alarm-clock. It was the phone.
His head hung low between his still shoulders, his eyes shielded from the world, unfocused until he noticed the paper again. His stomach lurched to his throat and he felt the need to vomit. But with a shaky breath, he kept it at bay. Instead he tried hastily to flatten out the paper again, bending it over his thigh, pulling on it carefully, as if it was the Constitution itself.
More tears fell, dribbling down his chin, staining the precious paper. In his frenzy to eradicate his doings, he didn’t notice, even as the tears blurred his sight.
After a while he gave up, a nauseating, sinking feeling settling in his stomach, realizing that his efforts were in vain and that he would not be able to restore the paper to its unharmed state. With shaking fingers, he held it up in front of his face and read the lines over and over. The tidy, curvy handwriting was clearly legible with its big letters, though the paper had welled up in some spots, where his tears had fallen. But still the words didn’t make sense. He felt as if he was attempting to read a foreign language, that looked like English, sounded like English, but wasn’t the English language he spoke, because he just couldn’t understand.
He didn’t understand anything anymore.
♠ ♠ ♠
So.... I've been working on this story for a while now. I hope you like the prologue so far and it could be that I won't be updating very often, school being time-consuming and all.Also this story will have a bit of political views in it, so if you want to comment on that later on, don't hesitate to do so.
Hope you liked it, comment and subscribe, please :D