The Conception

This is how it begins.

The story moves forward. It's only the prelude to this book so naturally you're lead to believe the story has just begun. In reality, I am 20 years old and you enter, during one of three acts (hopefully the first) to a dark theatre. The audience is all but pleased you decided to shed an unnecessary light down the aisle, paling only before it reaches the stage.

What a shame.

I sit here, my own light shed upon this sequence of words you'll soon forget, but alas, you take a seat. Squinting from the final row to my packed house. The Opening Night of a new production, my government surname plastered across the marquee outside, the lightbulbs bordering the sign serve as the only heat source in the cold town of Pig's Eye. The sign, no doubt, has a few letters backwards or angled incorrectly given the countless subtitles: a pen name, another, monikers, etcetera. One of the said subtitles that likely found the ability to draw you in now has you confused as to who is the main character in such a production.

Time will tell. This is only how it begins.