The Black Swan Effect

Prologue

She sat there. Solid as stone and just as unyielding to her surroundings. Her back was rusty from her lack of movement. The dirty and dusty breeze anesthetized her skin. She did not shiver. The dry air irritated her eyes and caused her silver hair to tickle her face and cover her in a spider's web. Not. One. Twitch.

The station was deserted. The sun was setting and with its warm, dead-leaf orange colored light the train tracks had turned from oxidized iron to glinting copper. The Philosopher's Stone was the only company the silver head had and it was rapidly disappearing beyond the black horizon.

No one.

Only the ballet of crisp leaves and sale leaflets where there with her in the sepia world.

She watched. Stared straight ahead, eyes never wavering, arms crossed in a thick well worn -well torn- barberry coat. Feet planted firmly on the ground, rooting her, stabilizing her. As if she might blow away.

Still she watched. Staring straight ahead she saw everything. Neon blue eyes. Surrounded by a forest of eyelashes. And underneath? Purple bruises. Her lack of sleep evident by the drooping valleys under her eyes, by the almost imperceptible slouch in her shoulders. By the tangles and frizz of her platinum hair that hung like dreadlocks. Her lips were dried and cracked. Negligence. Tight lipped, teeth clenched. This stone had never spoken.

It was not the woven web of white hair covering her face that dictated her age. Nor the bags, nor the slump, nor the rips in her jeans or the fray of a hem.

It was the blue eyes.

Those eyes had seen something.

Something that had aged her severely.

Something that made passers-by think that she was nothing but a mad old woman. A dirty, ancient, confused old woman sitting alone in a train station.

Oh she was mad. She did not know where she was or where to go. She had been driven insane by years of fragmented memories. Shards of dreams that had sliced her mind, leaving nothing but ribbons. Name? Home?

She was mad. She was furious. That her life had lead her to this empty station. That she had suffered years and years of torture and treacherous, vile lies. That she had been ignored and abused.

She was mad indeed.

But one thing she was not: was old.

Fourteen? Fifteen? Sixteen possibly...

D.O.B.? None

So the silver girl sat. Tattered and frayed...

Author's Note:

Not quite sure. Not much romance to start off with but I'll get there. Quite actiony... About a girl who keeps on running.

Anyway hope you enjoy :) Just really setting the mood in this chapter...

Oh, and please do not forget to tell me what you think!