Prologue
#1 of Velvet Carpet
This is a romance story (apparently) but there's not much action in this chapter yet. You will find out who the characters are eventually. Stay tuned!
Today, the sky was of a creamy blue and was punctuated by lone, isolated clouds. The setting of the sun paints my room with the golden rays, coloring my ever-so-mundane desk. There are various things on my study desk -- scattered notes, pens with missing caps, a bottle of mineral water that has been left there since the beginning of time... ...the mess is real. I cast a glance over at my gracefully disordered room, looking at the various artifacts on my shelf. I took down a trophy and looked at the label. It says, "1st Runner-up in Chess, Year 3 Inter-class, 2004". God, how long ago was that? I cannot seem to remember. There's a lot of things that I don't remember now. Ah, the piano, my sole company when I am sad, or was. I instinctively stroked a white key, and an elegant note danced out. It's almost like there's a voice calling me. My fingers, matured with practice, glided over the keys at a tempo I know too well. This was a piece I used to play to please Mother. Haha, what sweet and beautiful memories. Walking around even more, I found the balcony, and, in front of the grand pots of flowers, stood a table. Quite odd actually, with its curvatures and its flourishes. Only with three legs, I thought, and yet it stood stable as well. This is almost like a trip down memory lane -- I mean, it is. After all, I've not came to this house since my family moved to Kestro.
Kestro is a nice place, a nice city area. It's always bustling with people, either hanging around the cinemas and cafeterias, or going to the various grocery and drug stores. There are very nice stationery shops too! They sell notebooks and pens of the most authentic designs, coupled with novel poems and phrases and words. That was a colorful city, but somehow, it wasn't for me. Congratulations! I flinched. You've become one of our scholars! Why?_ _You will be so successful! I clutched my head, but it was too late. All those memories started flowing again, replaying... ...and voices. What? You want to be a writer? Yeah, what's wrong with that? That is a laughable idea! A writer?! _Yes! Writing can express my true feelings! I can... ...I can create worlds -- beautiful ones! _Nonsense! Only sciences are the truths! I thought you knew better! _What? _You disappoint me. _But, why? Arts can inspire too! _No, no, no! You can be a doctor, lawyer, anything! Not a writer! Huh? What do you mean? _Jobs that actually help the world! Makes money! Money's all we need! _... ...
My heart was racing, and I am breathing heavily too. I sucked in a deep breath and tried to simmer down, and only when I turned to the huge mirror wall behind me did I realize that my face was wet. The rims of my eyes were swollen, and the veins of my eyeball are disgustingly visible. I looked closely in the mirror again, and thought, what a gentle redness, though. The me in the coal-black mirror was staring right back at me, and I think he said, "Cheer up. Don't be so tense." Yeah, I should. I have been experiencing such lapses of intense emotions for a rather long time, and one time, it amounted to an almost-successful suicide attempt. Mother quickly dialed for the ambulance, and all I remember seeing was her fragile silhouette before passing out on a pool of blood. Oh, what gentle redness. After stabilization, I was then referred to the psychologist. My diagnosis was catastrophic -- I can't remember any other words -- I saw the word, "depression". I was floored with emotions, perhaps that of denial, and of disappointment, and maybe distress, some discomfort... ...but after all, I was fine. I heard only one instruction from Mother when she gutted me with her broken eyes and tear-scarred face, "Stay alive."
Here I am, at our old house in Fistre and this mansion makes me feel all the nonchalance in the world. I looked at the antique grandfather clock. About five thirty. I should go out and grab some dinner before Grannie come back. So, I flung my sling bag over my shoulder, and it hung diagonally across my chest. I fished out the keys from the drawer and slotted it into the key hole. With one palm on the handle and one maneuvering the keys, I opened the steel door with an unpracticed mastery. I stuffed my feet into the slippers and strutted out of the door. My mind was finally clear again. I inspired another deep breath, and another of such fresh air. My tongue was hanging out of my muzzle, my canine fangs exposed.
"You should keep your mouth shut," screeched a feline as the lift door open. I look around in the lift and realized that there was no one. Oh, she was talking to me. "Quit looking like an idiot -- dogs really are dogs," she muttered in a grumpy tone. Oh my gosh, what the f... _She should have known about my depression, so she should shut hers first. Really, can't dogs and cats just get along? _Useless... I forced shut my eyes and let a grunt, and exhaled heavily. The voices seem to be coming back again, all thanks to that sour feline, and as I was about to lose my point of focus, she sighed out with an emotion I'm too familiar with, "People acting as though they're broken... ...if only they knew how it truly felt.".
Then did I realize, that her eyes had that gentle redness too.