I am still breathing! I swear I am! I have just been trying to juggle a lot of stuff and realizing I need to make a plan for the chaos, but that’s another post.
I MAY have finally come up with a start to Morgan, my cursed little story.
Yes, it’s a prologue, but there are a lot of novels that have them.
A lot of people sit down to write or record something saying they never thought they would find themselves doing it, and so, I am adding to that list. Hi, I am Morgan Oster, and when I sat down in front of an empty notebook with a pen, I never imagined it would be to tell you my story. I thought it would be poems or crappy fan fiction on the internet, after all, I am sixteen, and that’s what kids in my generation do. We overshare. We argue with adults, and we post stupid shit on the internet not knowing that we will probably regret doing that when we’re older mainly because we don’t think that far ahead.
You would say I have a lot more insight into the future than any other sixteen-year-old, and that’s because I was forced to grow up when I was way too young to think about that kind of stuff. You see, some people dream about having superpowers; others wish they could see the future, and a whole other group wishes they could see into the beyond, the other side of the veil, into the world of the supernatural. I am here to tell you having the third one sucks more than having to eat the one thing you think is gross. For me that’s broccoli, but I digress.
I started seeing weird stuff when I was four. It wasn’t full ghosties and demons then, more like fleeting things out of the corner of my eyes and shadows that moved when you know shadows aren’t supposed to move unless the sun made them, that sort of thing. There were whispers only I could hear and things that were moved which were blamed on me. After all, I was the kid, and we do things like that, right? Right or so Mom thought.
You see all this time, Mom was being influenced, and I had no clue. I just know she went from being a really nice mom to slowly turning into the most wicked witch you could imagine. I remember comparing her to Maleficent and thinking Mom was worser than her. Hey, I was four. I didn’t know that was not a word.
It wasn’t until my fifth birthday that I saw something around my mom’s face. It was a thin tail, no triangle tip, no fire red, in fact, it was dark red almost black. I couldn’t see anything else, and it disappeared when I noticed it. I would smell something found out later it was like rotten eggs. Come to think of it, most of them had that smell to some degree. I guess I just got used to it.
House of Geek 