Welcome to Insanity: Prologue (Pt. 1: Bad Start)

Acknowledgement: By the prompt of a friend I have yet to even meet I have decided to grit my teeth and take a leap. Through his efforts did he encourage me to take wing and so here I am. Doubtlessly the road will be far from the soothing comfort I long for, but that which is never attempted, is never achieved. Be it through failure or success, and by which are defined by the individual, shall I persevere and strive to see this endeavor till its end. Thank you Lem, my dear friend and sun.

Preface: I've written this countless times, snippets here, summaries there, told, and retold the story to those few who were kind enough to lend an ear. In the end, however, I would present the one piece that was the beginning of Silas. The beginning of a story if oft though to be the most vital component, both to set the scene and emotions, and reel in a reader. I had oft thought about this story but didn't proceed with in fear of a Bad Start.

It wasn't until high school that I first shared my ball of yarn, and still many years later was it still a fable I weave and spin. Given how much time has passed one would think that I'd have polished it more, but no. Unwise it may be, but being the sentimental and cowardly sort, I held on to the grain that I still hope will become a pearl, though too afraid am I to apply the layers upon layers that is what makes a pearl exactly that.

But still, I want the reader to see exactly where it all began. My novice hand that tapped away at the keys, the naive perspective of my writing and how it develops. As compromise, I present you the original start of Welcome to Insanity, rewritten but plot unchanged, with my still developing style.

(That being said I did tweak it a bit. Maybe more than a little bit.)

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Welcome to Insanity: Prologue

Part 1: Bad Start

Grey clouds roared their might in brief flashes before letting out. A fine mist had spread over the rustic suburban city and the streets were still and quiet with the exception of a few bakeries of whom were just beginning to fire up their ovens, columns of steam and smoke rising from their chimneys and vents as a savory aroma filled the shops and streets.

On the 2nd floor overlooking a majority of the quiet town was a figure sitting in the alcove, so still it seemed slumber had overtaken them. But such peace couldn't be farther from the truth, and tranquility was far beyond his reach.

Synopsis: The Dark Circus

The Dark Circus is based on a silly RP with some friends, though the story itself has been tweaked for the sake of consistency and a more thorough plot, since there were a few loose ends. Nonetheless I tried to keep it as close to our shenanigans as I could.

While it may seem to be of little sense as to why Shirlain doesn't just bake another batch of cookies, well, it would suffice to say that there's more to those than meets the eye.

As a bit of explanatory backstory, the Dark Circus is an underground organization, one believed to be the epicenter of all major black market ongoing and exchanges. Like the spider that sits still and patient, looming in the center of its giant web. Furthermore, their world runs on a completely different system from our own.

One example would be the duality their world revolves around. All sentients are born a pair, twin souls, though such twinship identity is usually held in secrecy. Furthermore the method by which they switch (sometimes called reversal) is unique and generally exclusive to each pair. For Shirlain and Tiral, their switch is of a consensual type and needs only that of a reflective surface to fulfill the criteria necessary to do so. Such conditions are not the same for all pairs however. In one such case, the Diurn and Nocturn exchange, specifically termed so for those whose reversal is influenced by the cycles of day and night.

Scribbles: Haircut

Neiro hummed to himself and flipped to a new page in his cover journal. He would make a separate entry in the true book later.

The events that had transpired that day would set forth a whole chain, and what he hoped would trigger Si's realization of the preternatural.

February 25, ----

Something strange happened today during our match in the Astral Pods. Up until then things had been normal, as normal as normal could be at the academy. 

Our issued challenge had, remarkably, been accepted by Silas. Granted it was an unconventional one. Esti and I as a duo against Silas in a No-Bounds match of skill.

All had been well as the two of us synchronized, and in a few well played turns, cornered Silas. 

Silas with short hair, having given it a better trim to
touch it up, though it seems to have grown out
again. Mint chocolate chip flavor.

Then it happened. To our amazement, he sliced his own hair to escape Esti's hold, and a trump later, had dispersed us both. Upon awakening from our stasis, suspended as we were. We rose for the customary handshake, yet as Silas rose, long strands fell to the ground. 

Though his expression changes little, he seemed just as astonished as we ourselves were. A insight I can thank to the privilege of being a close friend.

There was little in question as to what happened, but rather how. Astral projections are of a plane of nonexistence, separate from the tangible, or so we believed. A mere projection. 

By our theories, it was impossible for the physical to be influenced by astral manifestation. Yet somehow it did.

As of now the Astral Pods have been classified as restricted, and are in suspended use for fear of bodily harm and other malignant effects not previously observed.

On another note, Silas hasn't dyed his hair in a while so it grew out bi-colored, turns out he's greying. Though he isn't always thorough on dyeing his hair, he's never let us see the color of his roots.

~N

p.s. We're still teasing him for his surfer hair, though Esti has added hipster on top of that and taken to calling him "Mint C. Chip" or "Minty" when pressed for time. He was not amused. 

Neiro chuckled to himself and shut the diary. 

Scribbles: Little Ladybird

Unfinished and in-progress of little Shyloris
bugging out over her new lady attire.

"Ladybug" was my alias as a child, and though I was fond of the name, as tends to happen with many childhood things, it was one that didn't quite carry over.

Scribbles: Chalking it Up

Fooling around with chalk. The same dusty sticks we traced the ground with as kids, only with a much larger color spectrum.

Idle doodle to test the chalk tool.

It was too much fun so I went on playing around:

Reference picture and a quick chalk likeness (x<10 min.)

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Z's Logs - Dream Walkers

Neiro had smiled, eyes bright and carefree when Silas announced that he would be heading off first, weary from the day's ventures. The albino had waved goodnight to his flatmate, gaze trailing after his retreating back as he retired for the night.

With a sigh, he turned impassive eyes back to the screen, its glow casting shadows across his soft features in the dim evening light.

Unsheathing a spindly bound journal, he gingerly peeled back the thick covering. It was well taken care of with hardly a crinkled corner or sign of wear on the binding.

There was nothing special about it. A typical journal that could be found in any corner bookstore. The real worth of it lay in the pieces within, and it was to one such entry that he flipped to.

Poem: Time's Passing

Amidst the banks of bogged moor,
Where there Time came adrift in lore.

Beholden by none but the minstrel's lyre,
Who told of Time's past now lost in mire.

Time sung sweet through bitter fruit.
That in mud and blood did take root.

Watered by sweat of those long suffered.
And partook of by fools undeserved.

So it bled in rivulets of gold,
The sands of time as stories told.

Hence came our world born of blood and sin,
And unfolded thus in cacophonous din.