Monday, March 7, 2011

Enigma Black-Prologue

This is the last posting of Enigma Black I'm going to do.  The following Prologue is something that I'm going to need to revise.  It's probably one of the last revisions I'm going to make before I again ship it off to agents and publishing companies.  However, given the success of e-books through Kindle, Nook, Barnes & Noble, etc., I'm seriously contemplating just e-booking it instead.

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell
~Edna St. Vincent Millay

Cloaked in shadows neatly tucked away atop a stone ledge, I waited for him. In the months since I'd been whisked away from my former life, waiting was all I seemed to do. Waiting for the day I could return to that life; waiting for the day I would die in triumphant vindication; waiting for the day I would finally obtain the vengeance I so dearly sought.

Vengeance—it’s such a simple word for such a complex action. How I’d dreamt of nothing but it these last ten years. It consumed me, forcing me to drink it in until I’d become intoxicated with its essence. It’d been the single pervasive thought haunting my existence, continuously running through my mind in a sadistic loop. Unable to sober-up, I’d stumbled through the last decade of my life plagued with the inability to think of anything else but my last memories of them and the day of carnage that took them away from me.

Vengeance--it was almost within my grasp. Soon, I would have the power to attain it. However, such power--I’d learned--does not come without a price; and this particular price had been paid for with my life.  The autumn air whipped through my hair caressing what little skin still remained exposed to the elements. Before becoming the property of The Cause autumn had been my favorite time of year. The smell of the air was invigorating and the leaves on the trees now aflame with crimsons and gold’s were positively mesmerizing. It always amazed me how something could be so beautiful as it lay dying. Perhaps, the same could be said about me now. I was an empty shell left abandoned on the beach unable to facilitate life. Besides, even if I had wanted to feel alive again, it just simply wasn’t allowed of me. The colder and more desensitized I was the more liable to kill without blinking an eye I would be.

My former home had fallen into despair these last ten years. Strewn throughout the once prosperous metropolis were dilapidated buildings and empty store fronts creating a virtual ghost town where life once reigned supreme. Most of these dwellings had been abandoned by those who chose to leave the confines of the city in favor of secluded locations where the presence of the New Order was not yet evident. Little did they know, however, these locations no longer existed but were merely destinations of mythological proportions.

It was during my times of contemplation atop my precipice that I would get what I was waiting for. For me, seeing Chase Matthews was the only remaining bright spot I had left in this world. He kept my heart beating, unwittingly providing me with the reassurance that I wasn’t quite dead yet. Through his dimly lit window I would watch him from my vantage point on the ledge during the nights when I could escape from my confines unquestioned.

I knew that I shouldn’t be here, but his aura was like a magnet pulling me toward its glow. His grip on me was strong making my visits to this ledge so frequent that I was beginning to ponder whether a permanent imprint of my rear would become indented into the cement.

My former life with him had been nothing short of perfect. In his arms, I’d regained the feeling of safety and security that was ripped from me in my youth. His big blue eyes looking into mine always made me weak, a feat of which nothing else had successfully been able to accomplish. I’d been strong in my former life without even having been manufactured to be as I was now.

A tear streamed down my cheek burning my skin on its descent. It was yet another sign of the weakness I was forbidden to display back at my new home; but this ledge was not my home and I couldn’t help it anymore. There was still a glimmer of the Celaine Stevens I used to be under the mask I was made to wear. That was something they would never be able to take away from me. I’d given them my life, my body and my mind but my soul was all mine and would remain so until my dying day.

He was every bit the awkward brand of perfection I remembered him as being. Often, I would find myself unable to break my gaze away from him for I never knew when or if I‘d ever get the chance to gaze upon him again. Closing my eyes, I envisioned our former life together and, for a moment, I could almost feel his lips on mine again--a feeling I hadn’t been able to experience in what seemed like an eternity.

He rummaged through his dresser drawer pulling out a pair of neatly folded shorts and methodically set them on his bed. I could tell by the way he haphazardly stumbled around his room that this particular night had been a trying one for him. Fumbling with the buttons on his shirt he proceeded to undress causing a familiar burning sensation to spread across my cheeks. A part of me felt as though I should avert my eyes as the sight of my former lover half dressed would do little to help my present situation, but I couldn’t help it. Instead, I scanned every inch of his toned physique affectionately remembering the nights when I would lie next to him with his broad shoulders encasing me.

Moonlight shone down upon my ledge as a passing cloud gave way. It was then, in that instant, he looked up in my direction as if suspecting my presence. He would never see me. I was trained to stay in the shadows; to be the perfect assassin.

It was getting late and they would be expecting me back soon. Standing up, I braced myself for my descent from the ledge and, with one effortless leap, flung myself off of it letting the wind tear through my body. It was time to get back home to my prison; to my destiny; to my own personal hell.

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