A prologue for a story I'm writing

    My life was anything but extra-ordinary, unless you counted that one time when I was five and my dad decided to go for a drive in our old station wagon and never looked back. Other than that, nothing else really made the cut for the role of a significant experience in my life. My name’s Jane Manor and much like my name I am a plain, normal seventeen year-old teenager with hobbies that include sitting on my window sill and staring blankly out at an ever lasting sky of rain. I wasn’t in anyway displeased with my life, I was just disappointed.
    The time that I think I decided to stop trying was when I was nine. It was parent teacher night and my mother was running late. Sitting at my desk with my hands on my lap and my black hair slightly clinging to the front on my face, putting it in shadows no doubt, I would sneak peaks at the other students around me. Echoes of “well done sweetheart!” and “really? I’m so proud of you!” rang out from their parents as they showered their respective child with love and attention. My mom had eventually made it and the teacher had talked to her about my solemn attitude and an innate inability to make any kind of friend. We had left in silence and on the ride home she had confided in me that she was worried. Worried that I wasn’t the way she had imagined I would have been. That I was a beautiful little girl, who someday may be a wonderful woman. Did I mention that she was a shrink? I guess I didn’t. Well she was and is. Funny thing though, is that she can see everything, but her own child.
    Another one of my aforementioned hobbies is reading, a lot. The years passed from when I was nine and almost nothing changed for me, unless you counted that I grew breasts and got maybe a foot taller, but other than that nothing really changed. I still gained no friends and my mother was still always late for the parent teacher conferences. Except now I always had a book in hand for those nights, so that I could try to escape from my world, which included over-loved teenagers.
    The night that something new and significant started was one that did not foreshadow to me all the events that I would have to witness. I was a seventeen year-old normal, average Jane anyway, what did I have to look forward to?
    But I’m getting ahead of myself, let me properly introduce the day, so you can fully grasp the day of a life of a Jane.




Thanks for reading!!!

The End

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