The Not so Ordinary Life of Alice D. Kylee

Prologue

I woke up slowly, letting small amounts of light filter through my half lidded eyes. I groaned and sat up in my bed rubbing my eyes halfheartedly. Anyone else would say that it was typical for anyone to do that. They would be very accurate in saying that but for this particular girl, it was quite the rare occasion. Me, myself and I were not one for lazy-risers in the morning.
  Stepping lightly onto the blue carpeted floor, I plowed through my room and found my way to the bathroom. Turning on the light switch, I ran a hand through my tangled hair and sighed, just another day.
Frizzy hair is apparently my natural look; with little bits and pieces flying in every direction I was a spitting image of an insane wizard. I took a brush to my unruly auburn curls and tugged on the brush's handle multiple times before the brush finally began to trudge forward. Pulling the front of my hair back into a ruby red butterfly clip, I decided that it was as good as it gets.
After five minutes of fighting my hair, I took out my turquoise toothbrush and began brushing my teeth with spearmint toothpaste. Spitting into the sink after a good three minutes or so, I pulled on a purple blouse with multiple ruffles flowing outward, along with a pair of dark blue skinny jeans that I grabbed from my pile of slightly (hopefully) clean clothes. Glancing at the time and noticing what little time I had, I randomly grabbed a pair of ballet flats and pulled them onto my feet.
Stepping out of my four room apartment, I rushed down the brown hall, probably waking all of my neighbors if not the whole town. Jolting to a sudden stop halfway down the hall, I realized I had forgotten my wallet and phone on my bed stand. Cursing at my idiocy I rushed back to my apartment as quickly as humanly possible.
Opening the door I ran to the back of my apartment and lurched for my keys before tripping on a pair of unwashed socks. Falling to the ground with a sudden 'thud' I briskly jumped back up after realizing my butt was most likely going to bruise badly. Call me a klutz, everyone else seems to do so.
I stuffed my phone into my insanely small pocket and ran out the door, slamming it loudly. I once again rushed down the hall before plunging down three flights of stairs. I slowed to a steady pace as I entered the lobby and flipped my hair over my shoulder before heading out onto the street.
It was sunny today, which is surprising here, but I didn't mind the added warmth on my pale skin. Clouds floated mindlessly on the horizon as a small plane was incoming towards our small airport. The trees swayed in the small breeze that blew on my back like someone brushing their fingertips against my bare skin. With a small skip in my step I made my way down the sidewalk and across the street and made my way to my workplace, which was a small book publishing company 'RetroBookside.'
It was hidden in our tiny town of Aldridge but was surprisingly profitable. Among other things, we mainly edited and published comic books and American manga's, but every so often a young writer with low income would come our way and if the book looked successful we would help make the book come to life on the shelves of bookstores across the nation.
I was a comic book copy/manuscript editor and publisher, but this was actually my second choice of work. After realizing that I would never make it big in the world of authors I decided to do the next best thing; help out others in that business. I began my college degree skeptical, but after the first week it became the most interesting thing I've done my whole life. I've seen authors make it big with their works and have even helped some along the way, but I have also seen some never make it to big name stores.
A usual day in the office was nine a.m. to eight p.m. with a thirty minute break every three hours or so. I would usually go about pestering my writers seeing how much work they had done in the little time I had given them. Usually they had gotten through three pages without getting severe writer's block but after the fifth page their work would usually deteriorate and I would have to delay the deadline by making a three hour call with my higher ups.
Nothing insanely out of the ordinary happened at my work. My income wasn't the best but I rarely bought anything that was expensive. I never had any problems with my co-workers but then again I rarely spoke to any of them. I would quietly go about my work without bothering any of them, or at least I would try. The days were usually slow moving but I'm not one to complain about that, if I wasn't pestering my bosses or yelling at the author I'm currently "helping",  I'll be helping a wide assortment of comic book artists finish their work by adding and texturizing the screen tones for their work.
I walked into my work place and went straight to the elevator without glancing at anyone while I was at it. Pressing the yellow button that read 'Floor 2' in bold letters, the elevator made its way slowly to my specified floor. The bell rang notifying me of my arrival to my floor and I left the small compartment as quickly as possible and made my way down to the editor's area.
I plopped down at my desk and logged onto my computer before pushing myself up and going to the coffee machine to make me a fresh brew of espresso. After putting in a specific amount of creamer and adding about five packets of sweetener I headed back to my desk.
Compared to some of the other desks in the room, mine was well organized and pristine. On the back left there was a simple frame with a picture of my best friend Julie and I at Disneyland, on the opposite side there was a mug with pens and pencils inside. Beside the mug there was a telephone and intercom (the intercom I never used because the secretary and I don't see eye to eye), my Apple computer was in the middle of the desk with a mouse and keyboard below the monitor.
Brushing my lap off, I began to dial in my author's number and see how she was doing. After a moment of incessant ringing, the other line picked up.
"Alice?" A high pitched voice sung out my name as a rustle of paper could be heard on the other line.
"Yes, Samantha, how much of your comic book have you done yesterday and today?" I asked in a deadpan voice already knowing the answer.
There was a slight pause before Samantha actually answered, I could almost hear the embarrassed smile spread across her face, "Well, to actually tell ya the truth, I've only got half a page done... ah, sorry."
I inwardly groaned, "How much longer?"
Samantha giggled, "No need to sound like a child on a road trip, I know what's going to happen in my story next so never fear! I'll have you a finished manuscript by the end of tomorrow, I'll fax you the finished project, kay?"
"It's not okay but I'll work on it." I answered as per usual.
A heavy sigh came out from Samantha, "You're the best Alice, love ya!" And with that, she hung up. I put the phone down.
Samantha Augustine; one of the most popular comic writers for romance stories, with all of the editors she had a reputation of never being on time with finished manuscripts but I stuck with her longer than any editor and have made thirty new volumes of her comic books be best sellers every time they hit stores. I can't lie when I say I'm a little proud of myself.
Now came the hard part, I had to talk to the manager in chief and convince him to lower the deadline to tomorrow night. There was a certain technique you have to master when talking with this guy. He's usually a jerk about everything you talk to him about (I don't know what his wife sees in him) but when that matter is Samantha he's pretty lenient. Usually.
The manager in chief was in a particularly sour mood that day and was not in any mood to lower the deadline. The conversation lasted for four hours. Anyone listening to our conversation probably thought we were having a contest for who could put the most cuss words into an understandable conversation. Not to brag but I usually won at this and would eventually get my way.
The day ended with nothing important happening at all. I went home with a cleared mind and an empty stomach, deciding to just go to the nearest local restaurant (Which was on the other side of town) and get the cheapest thing on the menu and got a grilled ham sandwich and returned home.
Upon entering my apartment, a loud 'thud' sounded from the apartment adjacent to mine. Putting my shoes back on I pressed my ear to the crack in the door, when I heard nothing move on the other side, I opened my door and investigated what had happened. I usually wasn't one to converse with my neighbors, but hell, I was curious.
The apartment adjacent to mine was owned by a person who apparently did not know anything about walking. He had fallen down face first onto the ground his butt was sticking out to the point where I had a nice view of something I never wanted to see; I suppressed a laugh threatening to enter the otherwise silent atmosphere. The man who had fallen was not unconscious, but I was stupid enough to not know that.
"Oi, you wanna help me up?" He asked.
His voice was like caramel, smooth and sweet and had a resonating tone to it. I jumped back, startled by his sudden question. "Well, I'm actually just enjoying the show, but I suppose a civilized person would help you."
He pushed himself up onto his knees, I offered him a hand and he took it, his hand was about two times larger than mine and had calloused marks all over. He stood with a grunt.
My God, this guy was tall; he stood over six ft. tall where I stood at a meager five ft. 3 in. My response to this was a small squeak.
I craned my neck to look at him. But couldn't really get any details before he turned around and mumbled something that hopefully resembled a small "thanks".
I scoffed, "You're welcome." He didn't answer; the only detail I got that notified me of him actually listening was the door stopping almost for a millisecond.
And that is how I got acquainted with my soon to be friend in a not so subtle friendship.