Prologue Alpha: A Wistful Way of the Day

Spattered drops of green minty toothpaste settled into the mirror much like a Jackson Pollock painting, only this scene stared back at you without the magic of life. Julian Chanter's face reflected off the smooth surface, a handsome but tired face that overcast the inner dwelling numbness. He spat the watered-down toothpaste onto the sink and turned the faucet to wash away the blood and minty scented foam. With a suspire that could wake the moon, he stared into the reflection and shook his head, "What am I doing with my life..." He said and put his toothbrush back into a small white ceramic holder with a single hole that had the sole purpose of holding the lonely, lonely toothbrush; much like himself in the delusionary envision of his failure.

There was so much that he felt lacked in his life, that he oftentimes misrepresented the self-loathing as some sort of given gift from above. Going so far on, that he considered himself unattractive despite the fact that he fared well even amongst those would-be models that went to the same school he did. Thick unshorn dark hair swept past his shoulder blades and neared the small of his back, it was very well kept and had a sheen of cleanliness. For the most part, he kept the hair braided in a long strewn manner without over-tightening it much; in accordance with his bottled up emotions presumably. His complexion was clear, clean, and very light, save for the occasional freckles that speckled his features under the weathering sun. Two intelligent-looking eyes, with the kind of quality you'd find in those of empathetic individuals, though the sheen of kindred joy had been absent for a while now. Although he was tall and had broad shoulders, for little more than self-loathe he slouched, losing the prominent posture that could showcase the musculature of his past labor.

Sauntering steps guided him towards the window by his bed, the same one he looked out of every day to look at the sun setting. Julian let the thoughts of school and schoolmates marinate for a good moment before closing the curtains and turning on the white, rose-petals embroidered lamp on his cheap metal, black painted nightstand. He embedded himself into the old, blue, wolf comforter, the kind where the wolf is howling and the blanket is fluffy. With his eyes closing while feeling the warmth of the lamp, he drifted into a long and wistful sleep; his day was squandered again on what he felt was nothing.