Beyond Sweet Ignorance.

Prologue.

Waking. Clicking. Ticking. Walking. Eating. Sleeping. My mundane days can be described in two syllable letters in which a child in preschool just learnt, and yet are all to true to the basicity of the course of my days. I wake up. I sit behind a computer screen. The days filled with the rhythmic clicking of the keyboard and the clock on the workplace ticking. I walk home. I remind myself to eat before I sleep. Repeat.

If you asked me before March 23, 2014, at exactly 2:17 P.M, I would've denied a single element of excitement in my life.

The day could not have been any different from the rest at the start of it. I've woken up after a particularly late evening out, and as such was in no mood for the events that I knew would unfold throughout the day. I brushed my teeth, staring into the mirror as my body went into autopilot. I've only been alive for 32 years, and yet my eyes say 'I'm ready for a quick death,' bloodshot and sloped, bags under them and an untamed eyebrow threatening to unite as one with its equally furry brethren. I tied my tie halfway, and put on my water damaged leather shoes. Arrived to work on time. Punctuality's key. Sat down. Computer on. Clicking. Ticking. Clicking. Ticking. 2:00. Lunch break. I force my body to rise from the chair in which I've become part of. My bones felt old. They've been doing this for a decade now, and it's only ever gotten harder. I decide to go outside, something I typically do not do.

2:14 P.M. I step outside. I see her. Only, she's crying right now. Typically I'd never go towards anyone; it wasn't an uncommon sight to see girls crying in the city, it's a place of heartbreak. And yet the pull towards her was strong. It was as if she was telling me herself "come to me." I don't even realize I'm walking towards her until I see her eyes. Her golden yellow eyes. She takes my hand in hers, and I find myself unable to resist anything she is doing. Her eyes remain on mine.

"Ian, it's time."

Her voice. Her honeydew voice that rang so familiarly in my ears. I felt like this voice guided me my entire life, yet her eyes look at me as if she was the one depending on me. I only look at her with confusion, my sleep deprived eyes meeting her sunflower colored ones.

"Ian, we don't have time. They're coming, remember?"

The first thing that comes to mind is my boss, but I have another 30 minutes of lunch break, and I've not spoken to the man in years. I don't have friends who come over and visit, and the farthest socializing for me goes is small talk with the neighbors. I've always been alone ever since the orphanage, and the fact that her face seems like that of someone I know is uncanny.

Her hand lifts from my hand and to my face. She cups my cheek as if she's known me for a lifetime; she couldn't have been older than 25. I lean in. Why am I drawn to her, why is her aura so strong? Her gaze goes from dependent to sympathetic. She draws closer, tracing the lines on my face left there by time.  Her eyes leave mine, and instead examine my body. My dry hands, my sloppy dressing, the stubble I've not shaved, the oil on my skin, my receding hair. She's expecting more. I'm not more. I'm the boy who was fortunate enough to have no parents, and yet grow up and become the average American, working a 9-5 job, waiting for love to find me before I settle down, have kids, retire and die.

"Oh Ian, you've forgotten, haven't you?"

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Short n sweet cause it's only the prologue lovelies, I do want to jump right into it after (: