March 29, 2017
Here's the introduction to a story I've been trying to write for a while (not my epic urban fantasy series, just a side project)...it is a rough, rough draft...meaning it's not my best writing...so forgive the crudeness and lack of flare...as I wrote it in my car on my lunch break...and I hate absolutely everything about everything I write...
Our story begins, as stories do, Once Upon a Time...but this particular story did not happen far way, in a distant, enchanted kingdom. No, our story began in an ordinary little town where nothing particularly exciting ever dared happen. In this world, magic is much harder to see or to believe in. In fact, most of the inhabitants of this world did not believe in the existence of magic at all...even though it was all around them.
Spring in the southern United States consists of two or three pleasantly comfortable days, alive with blossoming flowers and an abundance of green. Followed quickly by face melting heat, and the world being soaked in yellow, allergy aggravating evil. There was also a tendency towards devastating tornadic activity. On this particular day, Abigail Prescott wished with all her being that the sky would open up and swallow her whole.
Abby, as everyone called her (though she secretly hated it) had spent a good portion of her twenties in college, pursuing the idea that when she finally received those hard earned diplomas, she would be able to immediately dive right into helping save the world from itself. She had wanted to be something akin to a superhuman hybrid of Jane Goodall and Mother Teresa...but without the chimps or celibacy. Now, at 30, she had come to the conclusion that the world was dead set against allowing her to help. Instead, she spent her days confined in a small, grey cubicle, staring at two computer screens, and trying to avoid her more unpleasant co-workers. The reason for Abigail's current distress was the latter.
At five-foot two and one hundred and thirty pounds, Abigail was short and built like an over full hourglass. In a different time she would have been the ideal shape, however, in such a thin obsessed culture her curves, though not large, made her feel awkward and out of place around other women. Add that awkwardness to the fact that she was an introvert bookworm with a penchant for fantasy novels and British television, and you have a woman who is more comfortable in Azeroth than interacting with her co-workers.
Abigail lifted her long chestnut hair and messily twisted it up and into a clip. She tried to concentrate on her work, but the constant chattering and snickering of the two women a few cubicles up from hers made it difficult to focus. These two women never made an effort to hid the fact that they were making fun of her, or criticizing her in some way, and they found their own cleverness exceedingly funny. Having only spoken a few words to them in the year she had been employed there, she had no idea what she had done to make them dislike her so. Everyday she came to work, did her job in an efficient and timely manner, and went home at the end of the day. Normally, like so many others in the department, she would put in her ear buds and listen to music while correcting invoices. Even with this distraction, it was usually normal to drown out Brenda and Kelly's obnoxious laughter without damaging her eardrums. Today she wasn't even able to find escape from them that way, as she had left her headphones sitting on her nightstand. It never ceased to amaze Abigail that these two women still had jobs with as little work as they did. In fact, they usually spent the majority of their time at work stirring up trouble and verbally, viciously ripping apart someone they didn't like.
"Oooo. Look at the college girl, Kelly." Brenda sneered, using one of her favorite nicknames for me. "She thinks she's too good for this job. She's so lucky to have this job."
"Uh huh," Kelly agreed. "Little Miss. Priss is older than us and doesn't have a husband or kids. Doesn't even have a boyfriend. There's just something off about her."
It was a conversation Abigail was used to. Most days she could tune them out and focus on the huge pile of work on her desk. Which was, no doubt, so huge in an attempt to make up for the lack of work done by the two girls cackling about her. Today, however, she was one altercation away from an epic breakdown involving a gallon of vodka and throwing flaming federal student loan payments at random people. She was strung so tight that her neck and shoulders were in a constant state of stiff agony. The only ones waiting for her at home were two sweet but nervous Italian Greyhounds, so it was unlikely that her knotted muscles would receive any tender care in the foreseeable future. Every snicker and laugh from the two tormentors made the tension in her muscles grow tighter and more painful, until finally, she tilted her neck slightly to the left and a loud pop echoed through her head. The pain was sharp, and as pleasurable as it was painful.
To Be Continued...