Status: Book 0: Prologue
Keante's Heart
Prologue (page 1)
Keante.
The sun, and the sky, the beach and the shore. Waves crashed on the rocks. The sun was in its zenith. The beach was quiet, beautiful, and calm, save for the steady beating of the water against the sand.
Keante.
The summer heat baked the beach like an oven, the soft coolness of a light breeze adding a much needed relaxing feel to the day. A flock of sea gulls cawed and cooed as they flapped their wings on the water. In the distance, a sailboat traverses the waves; its white sails pushed by the wind.
Keante, wake up.
On a low cliff 30 yards off the beach, stood a medium-sized beach house on a hill that overlooked the sea. To the front of the beach house, an endless road that stretched for miles; seemingly with no end beyond which, lay a suburb of hundreds, scurrying about with murmured whispers and dulled voices. And beyond that, tall mountains rose above the land. Their length providing a sense of security, as well as twinge of fortitude and power, to this place. And further beyond, black storm clouds that loomed over the land…
The land that is beyond this place. What lies beyond, no one knew; what was there, no one desired to care. In all, this region (which just so happened to be a quaint urban sprawl in what is the city of San Diego of the Golden State of California) seemed to be normal and fairly tranquil for a hot summer day. The only difference was that this place wasn’t San Diego; it wasn’t California; hell, it wasn’t the United States of America.
This was really a dream; a dream of a house, on a beach, a few short miles from any significant areas of importance. This place was not real, but it felt like it. The air was hot, the water was cool; even the sand felt real.
But all of this was not real; nothing of it was at all real.
Nothing.
Take the large house.
The house was a two-and-a-half story tall mini-mansion—as far as mansions go. Its white, tan, maroon, and gray color scheme clashed with the terrain and the landscape, giving it the appearance of a home chiseled out of the very rock itself. This was very amusing to the human eye, whose views of the house felt it gave the abode an earthy feeling.
It was a very fashionable house; a clean and well-kept house at that. Its architectural style was done in the Modernist taste favored by places such as New York City, Chicago, London, and Los Angeles. But it also carried an air of simplicity, as well as a glint of old school feel favored in the Retro age of ‘50’s, ‘60’s, and ‘70’s. The main body of the house was comprised of 8 bedrooms and 7 bathrooms, an upper and lower kitchen and large dining room with a view of the ocean, a living room/sun room with a retractable glass roof and walls, a large den, and 3 decks.
On the first two decks were two large swimming pools, each 5 yards long and 4 yards wide and up to 5 to 6 feet deep. 16 chaise lounge chairs—4 on each side—were arrayed around the pools, a pattern of cream and sand colors creating a spectacle of amusing creativity and frivolousness. The last and lowest deck, where the platform meet the beach, there was a long dining room table that was 2 yards long and 2 feet wide. Around the table were 12 chairs, and on the table were flowers and wreaths, along with wine glasses, and tea sets and china. Also on the lowest deck was a small Jacuzzi tub with its covering pulled back, sitting on the southwestern corner of the deck.
Clearly it had just been used, because the tub hummed with the massaging motion of water and air, with the water foaming and bubbling and steam sighing long, relaxing sighs. If one looked carefully, it could be noticed that a trail of water lead from the tub up a flight of stairs to the second deck; and it was here that in the northwesterly direction of the pool, sprawled in a cream-colored chaise, was (by chance) a young man of 14 or 15. His eyes were closed, his thoughts a wander, a blurred vision of unreality.
Keante.
(end of page 1)
The sun, and the sky, the beach and the shore. Waves crashed on the rocks. The sun was in its zenith. The beach was quiet, beautiful, and calm, save for the steady beating of the water against the sand.
Keante.
The summer heat baked the beach like an oven, the soft coolness of a light breeze adding a much needed relaxing feel to the day. A flock of sea gulls cawed and cooed as they flapped their wings on the water. In the distance, a sailboat traverses the waves; its white sails pushed by the wind.
Keante, wake up.
On a low cliff 30 yards off the beach, stood a medium-sized beach house on a hill that overlooked the sea. To the front of the beach house, an endless road that stretched for miles; seemingly with no end beyond which, lay a suburb of hundreds, scurrying about with murmured whispers and dulled voices. And beyond that, tall mountains rose above the land. Their length providing a sense of security, as well as twinge of fortitude and power, to this place. And further beyond, black storm clouds that loomed over the land…
The land that is beyond this place. What lies beyond, no one knew; what was there, no one desired to care. In all, this region (which just so happened to be a quaint urban sprawl in what is the city of San Diego of the Golden State of California) seemed to be normal and fairly tranquil for a hot summer day. The only difference was that this place wasn’t San Diego; it wasn’t California; hell, it wasn’t the United States of America.
This was really a dream; a dream of a house, on a beach, a few short miles from any significant areas of importance. This place was not real, but it felt like it. The air was hot, the water was cool; even the sand felt real.
But all of this was not real; nothing of it was at all real.
Nothing.
Take the large house.
The house was a two-and-a-half story tall mini-mansion—as far as mansions go. Its white, tan, maroon, and gray color scheme clashed with the terrain and the landscape, giving it the appearance of a home chiseled out of the very rock itself. This was very amusing to the human eye, whose views of the house felt it gave the abode an earthy feeling.
It was a very fashionable house; a clean and well-kept house at that. Its architectural style was done in the Modernist taste favored by places such as New York City, Chicago, London, and Los Angeles. But it also carried an air of simplicity, as well as a glint of old school feel favored in the Retro age of ‘50’s, ‘60’s, and ‘70’s. The main body of the house was comprised of 8 bedrooms and 7 bathrooms, an upper and lower kitchen and large dining room with a view of the ocean, a living room/sun room with a retractable glass roof and walls, a large den, and 3 decks.
On the first two decks were two large swimming pools, each 5 yards long and 4 yards wide and up to 5 to 6 feet deep. 16 chaise lounge chairs—4 on each side—were arrayed around the pools, a pattern of cream and sand colors creating a spectacle of amusing creativity and frivolousness. The last and lowest deck, where the platform meet the beach, there was a long dining room table that was 2 yards long and 2 feet wide. Around the table were 12 chairs, and on the table were flowers and wreaths, along with wine glasses, and tea sets and china. Also on the lowest deck was a small Jacuzzi tub with its covering pulled back, sitting on the southwestern corner of the deck.
Clearly it had just been used, because the tub hummed with the massaging motion of water and air, with the water foaming and bubbling and steam sighing long, relaxing sighs. If one looked carefully, it could be noticed that a trail of water lead from the tub up a flight of stairs to the second deck; and it was here that in the northwesterly direction of the pool, sprawled in a cream-colored chaise, was (by chance) a young man of 14 or 15. His eyes were closed, his thoughts a wander, a blurred vision of unreality.
Keante.
(end of page 1)