The Book
Prologue
to the reader ; " love is love, obsession is obsession, those two mixed, are a real disaster "
8:43 AM : 12/10
My heart slammed against my ribcage, my fingertips moist as I flip through the last crisp page of my book. I wish I could erase all my memories of writing this book, to pretend like I never wrote it and to erase it from existence. I wrote for pleasure, finding interest in the horrid words I wrote, as it distracted me from the stressing reality around me. Yet in the end, my own creation led me back to receive even worse. Had I never thought of even writing, and I wouldn't have to be stuck in such a position.
"Lyra James, we are delighted to have you here with us today!" they said, wide smiles plastered across their faces. It all felt so eerie, and fake, knowing behind one of these smiles lay a smile of deceit , waiting to lure me into my doom.
I smiled up at the reporters, running my fingers through the streaks of silk on my head, fixing it to a side.
About a month ago, I published my first book, "A perfect escape from reality", I used writing as a way to let out my rage, which resulted in ideas of murderer, and gore, and I turned it into a book, How the male lead also himself lets his anger out on humans, and gets away with it, and each of the murderers just being more fascinating. I never thought people would enjoy reading it, especially with such heavy torture I put upon the female lead, yet it seems like its not just me who enjoys such stuff.
Enjoyment can go another way, I was glad people liked my book, extremely glad, I loved all the appreciation I got showing me how much they were into the novel. That un till I got appreciated in a rather different manner. It started off by letters, then emails, pieces and parts
Your out there, waiting to acknowledge me face to face. Sometimes I think It was best for me to have just stayed under stress of reality rather than opening up to it. I cant even cross a corner without fearing ill have to come upon you.
My number one fan, Its great to have you, Yet you really meant it when you said your crazy obsessed with genres like i do. What else?, why drag me into your obsession?
"please keep your love for my novel hidden, its better like that."
I think, as I stare at the hard copy in my cold hands, wishing I could yell that at their face, like they were there listening, it feels like they're watching at every corner. I wish I could just rip the pages apart in front of their face, and tell them it never existed.
But oh lyra, it doesn't work that way.
My secretary pokes me in the back with her file, causing a shiver to rush down my spine as I immediately fix my posture and cock my head back up, Giving the reporters in front of me an awkward laugh, following it along with a cheeky grin. "Apologies, Yes I believe ill be working on a part two to this book, Yet it may take some time, I guess you can say, It'll be based on reality, using true events of life and wording is as someone else's life for my readers to read , gives it a bit more slice of reality, does it not? Although id love hearing suggestions from my readers"
I bowed my head slightly for respect, my hair slipping down from behind my ear, as my eyes viewed the marble floor, lifting my head back up, I took a swift turn, taking my exit from the room, dropping the heavy feeling of eyes piercing on my back
I carefully take my steps down the staircase, my secretary following beside, the silence around and between us deafening, until she breaks it. I wish she didn't, I sort of liked it, silence gives me time to think, and thinking is one of my favorite hobbies.
" Your novel certainly turned out to be a hit, ma'am, I told you it's word would spread quick, didn't I? "
Hearing her statement, I utter a chuckle
" I doubted that, considering the absurd plot it had, but i guess people really did like it "
My secretary nodded, as she held the car door open for me.
I looked ahead at it, before ducking my head and getting inside, the door shutting.
I watch as my secretary walks around and gets in the driver seat, continuing the unwanted conversation.
" Are you ready for the book signing? "
The sound of the engine faded in, I just sit there, looking out the rolled up window.
I wasn't ready at all, I wish i could just sleep in, and wake up late, as lyra, not as an author.
"I surely am" i lie. "Its quite exciting ill get to hear what my readers even liked about my book" i lie again.
I wouldn't say its quite a lie, I'm more afraid of coming across the guy who left that review. Out of everything, I don't want his review, or appreciation, or attention, or anything.
I stare down at my lap, as the silence between us fills in once again. This time it feels irritating.
I fish out my phone from my purse, switching it on, my fingers tremble and hover over my screen, and the icon of Gmail, before i click on it, opening an email sent to me on my private account. I haven't showed anyone, I definitely should, but i haven't. So why haven't i? That's right. Why haven't you, lyra? They don't love your work, a true fan wouldn't do this, why are you gatekeeping? you fool woman.
But to be honest, I find this exciting.
It risks my life, I never liked my life anyways.
