Prologue
It was a dark winter night. Her back was sending icy electric shots to her brain. She took a deep breath, there had been a delay. The dreadful voice of an operating woman announced the holdup; the train will be arriving in the next couple of hours. Her face was sullen. She couldn’t bear another moment with her thoughts.
She dragged her feet to the bench at the far end of the platform. Someone has left a half torn concert flyer. It was black with streaks of deep purple. She sat down, staring at the piece of paper, trying to figure out the name of the band. She decided that it was called: color purple. It sounded fitting enough. Perhaps not, that was a title of a book Nina always spoke about. Why hasn’t she read it though? Maybe she should. She laughed softly. These monologues have got to stop.
As she tilted her head back, resting it against the bench, she lit up a cigarette, took a dramatic drag and let herself be pulled into the whirlpool that is her mind.
Ps: One of the dreams I have is that one day, and I’m guessing in many many years from now, I’ll write a book. The other night I decided to give it a shot, to see if I actually have that kind of imagination.
- hamra street
I was sitting alone in a cafe in Hamra st. I had my earphones on, listening to music that fit my mood, and just wrote. It turned out that (maybe) I might have something in me.
I don’t know if it would turn into something more. For now this is my first Prologue.
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