Chapter 1

Establish a Beginning

The only sound in the room was the faint shuffling of papers and the slight come and go of breath in the stale and gloomy air. The room itself was dark and gloomy, so it was not a ‘deeper meaning’ descriptive phrase being used in this context. No. All of the lights were off save for a small lamp resting on the other side of the room, away from the only person inhabiting the tight and fairly depressing space. That said person was kneeling on a thick wooden chair leaning against a black table with many scraps of paper and books thrown about the surface.

Not a very good atmosphere for reading if you ask me. But no one did, so I should not have commented.

She was a small girl with rather short hair, only coming down just below her ears, curling slightly along the ends. Her hair was dark, making it impossible to tell the exact color in this light. Her clothes are nothing worth mentioning though I do suppose I am surprised she is not shivering at the moment, seeing as that room has always been quite drafty. The blinds are shut, preventing any light that might have been outside from sneaking in and illuminating the books and papers fully.

The young girl, Violet, as her name was, did not seem to mind the lack of light though it was somewhat bad for her eyes. In fact, she seemed entirely focused on the materials in front of her, squinting at the small black letters jumbled upon each page. Every once in a while she would smile or frown and move the papers around to begin reading a new scrap. To anyone else there might have been no order to how she placed the papers when she was done with them. But there was a reason for that, though I cannot quite tell you, as I do not know why she placed them in that order myself. I do have some idea, but she and I would both be mistaken if that were the case.

Violet was so absorbed in her study of the books and papers that she did not notice she was no longer alone in the room.

There was a sharp smacking sound near the door as tongue met teeth with an audible click. As I’m sure anyone would, Violet jumped and let out a small squeak, falling back into her chair while hitting the back of her head off the wooden spine of the furniture.

She groaned as she rubbed her head and looked around at the man who had disturbed her in her diligent work. Upon seeing and recognizing the figure in the doorway, Violet sat up straight and clasped her hands in her lap, looking much like a child caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar, if you’ll excuse the overused expression.

“Violet,” a dark voice called from the entrance. Not much could be seen of this new figure, but what could might have sent chills down a sinner’s spine. The man was by no means tall, that much the gloom allowed you to see, but it is not height that intimidates so. Oh no, not usually, though it sometimes plays an important factor. This was not the case, as I have mentioned before. He was fairly thin, dressed in a dark dress suit paired with a tall cane that reached past his hips. White gloves glowed in the darkness. The look of a pure English gentleman would have been complete if he was only wearing a monocle in this left eye and a top hat upon his head. As it was, the man did have a barely concealed English accent. Oh, but I said this man was frightening. It was not the clothes or the voice or figure that might have sent a guilty tremor down your spine.

It was the atmosphere he gave out. When he entered the room a sense of inferiority was draped across your shoulders, weighing you down. It was the feel of never being equal to this man, of never rising in status in his eyes. This man was better than you and he knew it. And he used it. It was a factor that often sparked violence and hatred around him and unconscious despair and depression to spread through the room.

Violet kept her head bowed and a light blush spread across her full cheeks. She could not keep her eyes from darting up and away for the slightest of seconds before dropping back down.

It was silent after the man had spoken her name. Silently and purposefully, yes this man always walked with purpose, he walked to the table scanning the contents with a neutral expression gracing his features. He neither smiled nor frowned, though his right eye twitched almost imperceptibly as his gaze slid over each new book or paper.

Violet had given up on merely stealing glances at the man and was now staring at him fully, nibbling on her lower lip and clasping her hands together in her lap. Her wide eyes shinned, anxiety clear in those bright brown orbs.

The man placed one hand on an old newspaper and began sliding the edges over one another, folding it into a tight, crisp square. Never once did his expression change. It was several moments before he spoke again.

“Violet,” he said, light and casual. “Can you tell me what you are doing with these articles and books?” It wasn’t a question. Not really. This man rarely ever asked questions.

Violet smiled suddenly and resumed her old position on her chair, bringing her knees up and placing her elbows on the table. She either did not see or ignored the man’s right eye twitching at the sight. “I was trying to make sense of it all, Mr. Co-President.” She said in the way only a child could: innocent and naïve. Only a brave or stupid child would not be afraid in this man’s presence.

The man, this Co-President, was obviously used to her behavior or else he might not have acted in the way he did. He began folding another newspaper, hands steady and face smooth.

“Oh? And what has driven you to this?”

Violet’s eyebrows furrowed and her eyes scrunched creating a rather unattractive sight. The Co-President wasn’t looking at her, so he didn’t notice. If he had he surely would have begun twitching again.

“It just doesn’t make any sense. I thought that if I could put the articles and reports in order it would start to become clearer.” The girl stated, looking down at her work. The man had started folding another paper. He didn’t look up from his task when he spoke again.

“And has that been working for you?”

Again, there was that scrunched up face. This time the man twitched.

“No…everything is still all jumbled up.” At this the girl lifted herself onto the table and began crawling around over the papers and books, ignoring the frown and annoyance radiating from the Co-President. “I even started at the beginning!” she said as she stopped near the head of the table where the man had paused in his paper folding. “I just don’t get it.” She mumbled at last, sitting down on the table with a huff and a pout.

The man leaned over the paper she was pointing at and read the large title: “Attack on the Rails! Massacre on the Mayflower!”

“You believe this is the beginning?” the man scoffed as he straightened out and resumed his folding. He was creating a small pile on the corner of the table at this point.

Violet’s pout intensified. “Yeah! There isn’t anything from an earlier date. This has to be it! It’s either that or the attack in the senator’s house…” she said, suddenly sounding unsure. She chewed her bottom lip once again as she looked down at the papers. “But nobody knows what happened in either attacks, so I had to pick the one that was more connected with the other events.”

“You will never become a proper journalist with that mentality, Violet.” He said, meeting her eyes. “Assuming leads to more problems than solutions.”

“Do you know when it started then?” she challenged, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“There is no such thing as a beginning, Violet, just as there are no endings. The story goes on and on until all those who care are gone. And even then it does not end. You must free your mind of the concept of beginning and end to see the greater picture. You will never understand unless you do so.” He was smiling slightly now.

Violet was silent for a moment as she stared down at the papers. She slowly uncrossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. A thoughtful look now crossed her face. Neither said anything until the Co-President sighed quietly.

“Do remember what I told you before on the train? About interpretations?”

“You mean about black and white?”

“Yes. Do you remember what I told you? Some think of black as evil, for example you could think of black magic or the devil. And yet in other places black is the color of fertile ground, a blessing and a grace. In the case of white, we have the same differences. White for surrender and nothingness. White for ancestors and spirits. It all depends on which point of view you wish to look from.”

Violet seemed confused for a moment before brightening suddenly. “You mean I should look at the characters!” she said excitedly before crawling over to the middle of the table and pulling out several old photographs from a rather large pile. She made her way back to the Co-President and spread them all out in a line. “Now,” she said and one would immediately feel the need to rub their hands together in anticipation. “Which one looks like a main character? Oooh! How about him?” she pointed to a picture on the edge of the group.

The Co-President once again leaned over the table to asses her choice. She was pointing at a black and white picture of a man smirking at the camera, throwing a victory sign up with his right hand. He had incredibly light hair and dark eyes, though the exact color couldn’t be determined from the photograph. The man seemed brimming with confidence and maybe even smugness. The Co-President was smiling as he leaned away from the picture. “Perhaps he could be.” He said lightly.

“Perhaps? No way! Look at that confidence! Only a main character could be that confident.” She was pouting again.

The Co-President raised an eyebrow at her reasoning and pointed to another photograph, this time of a meek woman with thick light hair done up in braids. Her face was dominated by thick and blocky glasses resting low on her nose. “Perhaps she is the main character.” He moved his hand to the next one. “Or perhaps him. Or her. Perhaps they all are main characters.”

“You can only have one main character! They can’t all be at the center.” She said indignantly.

“Perhaps none of them are ‘at the center’ as you put it.”

“B-but you have to have a main character!”

“You are not looking at the big picture, Violet. Free your mind of these trivial concepts and look beyond the common outline. You will find an interconnected web with no center. An edged circle forever rotating. Forever changing.”

Violet was frowning now. “So, this story doesn’t have a beginning, an end, or any main characters? How does it work, though?”

“Just as every story does. You start around the middle and eventually get where you want to be. It is as simple as picking a date on a timeline and proceeding right or left. Eventually, you will find what you are looking for.”

“So where should we start?” she asked, looking around herself at her makeshift timeline.

The Co-President smoothed the folded paper down beneath his hands and said, without taking his eyes from his work, “Wherever you like, just know that it may not be clear from the start. You may have to jump around a bit. Be prepared for stepping out of the normal boundaries.”

“Of course, Mr. Co-President, sir!” she puffed up her chest and crawled back to her original seat, taking in her timeline. After a second or two of doing nothing, she grabbed all of the papers and books and shuffled them about randomly before letting them fall back onto the table. She then closed her eyes and tapped around the table until her hand was met with a newspaper. She opened her eyes and grinned.

She had just found her beginning.

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Oh my! A chapter story!?...Perhaps...maybe. I don't know. I think I like this writing style. It's different from my usual stuff.

Feed back would be lovely! And if you point out any grammar mistakes or misspellings I'll love you forever! Wow! This is Long!

:)