THE PROLOUGE

Dark even at Dawn this house escaped reality and this boy, this odd, mysterious boy liked it here. After all the darkness hid him from life, loneliness from stress and hunger from anger.
Dust caked the halls the halls that creaked like a dead tree in the wind and leaves from many years lay piled up in the corners. A young man sulked out the open front door, his form silhouetted against the gray pathetic rays of the fall sun. Crouching down he stared out at the street, his matted and ragged hair flopping down across his pale unseeing eyes.
As I stood inside looking out at his back, I sighed. He had been like this for days now, well not exactly the same he had moved a bit but he had eaten nothing and barely slept. He didn’t even turn as I walked to him, my feet not making a sound upon the dull wooden porch. He was cold, as you could tell from the raised bumps on his arms and the slight shutter of his thin frame. Small gasps for air and the occasionally blink was all that showed he wasn’t one of the living dead such as I.
I couldn’t help it! I was so curious about this mortal who acted so much like one of my own kind. Still, think of it, a mortal man who would, by chance, choose this house. Of all the houses on this street all in various states of disarray and ruin he had to of choose the one in which someone had died. Not just someone, me.