Prologue
Such times were depressing, as it has been shown throughout history. When the streets came to riotous uproar and the night became filled with the sounds of destruction. Happiness would be no friend of the people. This was such a time, when a peaceful world was turned upside down by the thoughts of a single man. That single man had managed to turn the entire world on its head virtually overnight. His name was Alustein Krugis.
Now, of course, there was no intentional hatred towards the world that led Alustein to commit such acts. Rather, it was the world’s hatred of him and his actions that made him do this. To be precise, it was his actions involving a small little book. A diary of sorts, you could say, one that he found amid the burned wreckage of an abandoned old building. A small little diary with words, words that form sentences, sentences that form paragraphs, and paragraphs that form a story. A story dark enough, true enough, to make an entire world hate a single person. Then again, all of the darker times of history tend to be exactly that, but it is not entirely about the story within the diary. It is about the diary, for it writes a story no darker than the present itself.
Such stories of the present are generally feared by the world as a whole. Their truths, and such abominable truths they hold, are the source of the fear. They could talk about the secret dark lives of respected people, talk about the impending doom of the world that has yet to be noticed, it could even be something so pointless as to reveal one’s faults. None the less, it is the truth that people fear. In this small diary, the story writes itself. Well, technically it is written by Alustein, for he was the one to pen the words onto the paper. And such words he penned. He penned words of darkness and fear, of despair and depression, and to be held highest above all, of truth and secrecy. Not his own mind you, but the truth and the secrecy of other people.
Now, if such a book came in to your possession, what would you do? Would you read the words and think it nothing but a child’s tale from the depths of one’s imagination? Would you drop the book into a growing fire and watch the edges curl in the flames before turning to a monotonous grey ash? Or would you read, and believe in such dark truths, to act upon the words within the confines of those tattered covers?
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The pages were of a pale yellow color with the edges a curled black and grey. A slight touch of the edge sent flakes falling down to the ground bellow. The black covers were tattered and beaten, worn through by the elements of nature after the shelter of wherever it was once kept burned away. The spine was in the same tattered shape, except for the faded golden letters that adorned it, giving some beauty and life to the old chronicle. The faded gold seemed to whisper the words to those that saw its faded beauty, The Chronicled Truth.
Such an odd title for a book one might think, well that is true. But it is a title that is not meant to be normal or obvious. It is a title that both shows and explains what the small book contains, a chronicle of truth. But such dark truths that it holds are not for everyone.
For weeks after the old building burned to the ground, the small diary sat atop the pile of burnt and ashen rubble, almost completely untouched. Maybe it was the condition of the diary as it sat atop the rubble the kept people away from it. Maybe it was an odd sense that the small diary held darker things than any mere mortal could handle while retaining sanity. Or it could have been fear, the people’s fear of that one word within the title.
Truth.
So as such, the small diary sat atop the rubble, weathering the harshness of the outside world for weeks. Through the rain and searing heat that could attract even fire to the water to cool down it sat. People walked by and gave the book no more than a second glance at best, trying to remain out of the eyes of people nearby, who were also sneaking a quick glance or two towards it. There is a fourth factor not previously mentioned that kept the book from being picked up by someone on the street. There were rumors abound that the old building did not ‘catch fire,’ not at all. In fact the word that seeped through underground communication networks was that there was a secret in that building, a very dark and terrible secret. A secret so terrifying that it was said that the arson had been arranged by the officials within the government, in an effort to subdue this secret.
This was the fourth reason. It was thought that the small diary was the secret that was supposed to have been erased from the world. To be erased by a blaze as bright and high as to wake the Gods in the dark of the night, such was the fate of the secret within those old walls. If the diary was the secret, possession of it would surely lead to their being hunted, and their inevitable erasure from the minds and sights of the people of the world.
And no one wants that, now do they?
Of course, there were always exceptions to the general feelings of the public. Those that did whatever they pleased without a care from what the social or ideological consequences would be. They did what they wanted to do. Rakeil Gileis was one of those people.
That's the end of the prologue, and hopefully the first chapter will be fiished soon.
The Fiction, Sci-Fi & Fantasy Book Guild [Reading, Writing,
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