The Prophecy Of The Black Day

Chapter 1

It was a hot summer afternoon. The sun sat stubbornly in the sky and sent incessant waves of light and heat to the earth. Since most people preferred waiting out the heat within the confines of their homes, the street was almost empty, asides from the occasional passing of a car.

A black car with tinted glass windows drove past a bookstore.  The bookstore had a large signpost that informed everyone it was called "La tienda de Feather".

It was the fifth time the black car had driven past the store in less than an hour. Most passersby wouldn't have been able to tell because there wasn't anything fascinating about the car. Even if someone had observed this, they would have assumed the occupants were lost and were driving in a circle.

Whatever the true intentions of the occupants were would have to remain unknown for now as it is impossible to tell a story without starting from the beginning.

Thus, our story shall begin with the insides of "La Tienda de Feather" which is a very good start.

It was obvious the shop was the owner's pride and joy because it was kept impeccably tidy and smelt as fresh as pines. All the wooden surfaces within the store were well waxed and polished. Books were arranged according to genre, their authors, colour, shape, and size.

Our concern, however, is not on the cozy store but rather on the sole occupant of the store. A girl sat behind the checkout table, scribbling what looked like a short story in a large black book. Beside her were crumpled pieces of paper she'd torn from the book.

She kept canceling and sighing when she was unable to come up with the right idiosyncrasies and verbs for her masterpiece.

Feeling a bit frustrated, she ran her hands through her messy hair and chewed the tips of her pen as she thought. Although it was evident she had hit a writer's block, she refused to give up on what she believed could be a best seller. She continued scribbling, sighing, and canceling words until the page was completely covered with crossed lines and black ink.

Although the society's current standards for beauty would have judged her rather harshly because she didn't possess any of the features that were considered attractive or sexy, the fact was that Selene Feather (as she was called) would have been seen as a very beautiful young lady had she been born several lifetimes earlier where people would have appreciated her rare beauty.

She didn't have straight, pearl white teeth, flawless fair skin, thick submissive hair, plump pink lips, or a drop-dead figure that would turn heads whenever she walked by.

Her dark chocolate skin was occasionally covered with pimples and acne. Her hair was stubborn and perpetually stuck around her face like an afro regardless of how many hairpins she used to hold it down or how much hair spray she'd used. It was impossible to tell what her figure was because she liked to wear black sweatshirts and baggy jeans which made her look shapeless and plain.

Her large brown eyes behind her black-framed glasses accentuated the look of innocence and naivety that made it impossible for people to tell her exact age. She was 19 but appeared far younger because of her eyes. While that was pleasant, it also had its disadvantages.

If you walked past her on the street, you might never look twice. Selene blended in so well with the surrounding and was remarkably quiet. However, if you looked at her properly, you'd have been amazed by how beautiful she was and would wonder why she tried so hard to be overlooked.

Her beauty wasn't the kind that was blatantly displayed or flaunted but was the kind you had to look deep to find. Unfortunately, very few people had the patience to do that so she was often ignored.