In the town of Fawlinbrook the summer days were long and hot and the winter days were short and cold. In the town of Fawlinbrook the children ran and skinned their knees on the sidewalks and played on swing sets and slides. In the town of Fawlinbrook the adults all made good, honest livings and kept their feet firmly planted on the ground and their heads well away from those white fluffy monsters. The men mowed the lawns of their own houses and grilled with charcoal in the summer and shoveled the driveways and spent days picking out the perfect Christmas trees in the winter. The women cleaned their homes and cooked without removing their pearls and always had some new bit of gossip to share with her little friends. It was a nostalgic little town, harking back to an era gone by. It was a quiet sleepy little town with a nice, peaceful, relaxing air about it. Like everyday would last forever. Like the slanting of the shadows and dulling of the light wasn't a sign of the passage of time for it had happened exactly like that before and shall happen exactly like that again. So silently certain and self assured was it that it seemed it would last forever. Even when one would leave for the present day, that small town of Fawlinbrook would persist as it was, a small pristine little slice of idyll, in memory forever. In the city of Fawlinbrook the summer days are sweltering and oppressive and the winter days are bitter and dreary. In the city of Fawlinbrook the children stay indoors and run around their parents' ankles screaming bloody murder. In the city of Fawlinbrook the adults are all on the lookout for new job prospects and keep their hopes down lest they be taken in by a loan shark or ponzi scheme. The men drink themselves to sleep and stay out suspiciously late. The women stay out of their husbands' way and frequently have strangers come to call. It is a bleak little city reflecting the attitudes of an even bleaker era. It is a stoic little city with a dirty, mean, overcast atmosphere. So repressively worried and uncertain was it that if one looked away for a second this ville might just disappear beneath the sands of time, blotted from the pages of memory. Even when one comes to stay for the rest of one's days, that small city of Fawlinbrook would only remain a small tarnished little slice of misery, anxiously waiting to be forgotten. Spoiler: Author's Notes: This little... er, thing, I guess, is an introduction. A mood setter of sorts. I really like slice of life novels with that generous helping of surreality that's so prevalent in unpopular fiction and this is going to be something like that. Questions, comments, concerns, complaints? Yeah, me neither. Fuck.
Spoiler: Day 1 - Morning The rays of morning light splayed themselves weakly over the uneven tiled floor, reaching feebly for the foot of the lumpy purple clothed bed but inevitably failing as always. But in the shadows of ever newer and taller building projects, this was the best one could hope for. The purple sheets rustled as a small device began shaking and screaming up a storm. Within seconds the small plastic brick was silent once more. After some silence and some rolling about, the room's sole occupant made her presence visible. She had three colors of hair sharply changing in layers from bottle blonde at the bottom to dull gold in the middle to rich caramel about the topmost. She looked across the floor to the dirty cracked mirror and frowned. “I look like shit.” Without a second thought she stood, slung a towel over her shoulder, picked up a bag filled with plastic bottles and soaps, stalked into the hallway and then the bathroom, turned on the shower and stopped thinking about all of the things she had to be doing for twenty minutes under the icy droplets she took rather than pay for coffee or a heating bill. Far from refreshed but undeniably more awake she returned to her room to dress and pack. She had to be at the office at eight, the restaurant and noon and the school at six. She had just enough room in her messenger bag to stuff a neatly folded uniform a file binder and a few books. She looked in the mirror again. “Passable.” The dull echoing clack of her flats against the slowly peeling, composite tiles as she crossed the room and traversed the hallways of the apartment served as a reminder of how alone she was this early in the morning. In short order she joined the dregs of the night shift and the vanguard of the day on the streets. There were fewer people at this time of day than you'd see at any other time in the city. It was almost refreshing, until she climbed the stairs onto the University Shuttle and flashed her ID. “Today is gonna be another zinger.” The ten sets of eyes flashed up to meet her gaze for half an instant before dropping back down to their smart phones. She edged past Mr. Josef Basche, the portly Janitor/Busker/Comic Artist and took a seat next to Miss Ramona Freely an undergraduate TA/full time student/aspiring YouTube celebrity. The trichromatic haired girl pulled a book from her bag and began reading. For the next ten minutes she lost herself in the exploits of a daring young lad on and adventure to restore the kingdom of Antalk to its former dragon riding glory. It was typical time filling trash fantasy, but it was better than her life, so she read on until she was stepping off the bus onto the cracked sidewalk of the university, staring at her current place of study in the fine arts house as she stowed her book away glumly. “It's only until work starts.” She took a moment to arrange her hair by the reflection in the front door's windows before entering. She hardly had to dress in full business casual to do her research but she had noticed that just dressing like a normal human made her look like an undergrad that everyone was allowed to ignore. The extra effort in dressing herself up made up for itself in the time she didn't have to spend tapping her foot and waiting for someone to, “have time,” for her. When she got to her desk, she was greeted by a particularly unwelcome face. “Hello, Mark.” She smiled. If she was good at anything, it'd have to be smiling. She could smile whenever she wanted and look as genuine and natural as the real deal. “Hey.” Now Mark was, is and forever shall be scum. A worthless neckbeard with delusions of grandeur. If he ever gets a wife it will be an abusive relationship one way or the other. And suddenly he begins his trademark ****** lean. Arm parallel to the ground, planted firmly on the nearest wall just above her head level in a mockery of nonchalance so he can take the opportunity to shove his face into hers and attempt not so surreptitiously staring down her blouse. Not that he could with it buttoned up and covered with a sweater vest, but that didn't seem to stop him from trying. It was almost sickening. “How are you?” She asked pleasantly. “Cards lost last night.” He moaned. “That's too bad. Won't be watching the playoffs then?” Making small talk was a strong point of hers. One she wished did not exist. If she was awkward and incapable a speaking without putting her foot in her mouth no one would bother with her and she wouldn't look like she was being rude. “Of course I'm gonna still watch the playoffs, gotta see if the team that beat them gets their due.” He went on. Perfect. “Oh. Well, I hope they do.” When he saw the girl trying to pass him and reach the stairs Mark flung his free arm across the hall rather dully and tried to resuscitate the stillborn conversation. “Yeah, so you doing anything Friday night?” “I've got work. I've always got work. Bills won't pay themselves.” She smiled apologetically. “Right, you live alone now, don't you?” “I've got roommates. Lots of roommates.” “Seeya around then.” “Disgusting.” She breathed venomously the second he'd rounded a corner. Without another thought she began her walk up the spiral staircase to the library. Upon entering her destination, she saw her boss. Professor Roddingham, a man in his late forties, still single, still searching. He greeted her formally and gave her the day's assignments. Before and after class she had to alphabetize some books and update the new arrivals into the database. Nothing difficult. That's why she had chosen to put her degrees in English and art history towards library science. She only had to deal with books, computers and the occasional librarian. For the most part, it was a dream job. She already knew SQL, she already knew how to script, she already read half the books in the library and she already knew the history of the world from 6000 BCE to 1980 CE. Getting the degree and doing the internship was almost a matter of going through the motions. “Good.” The professor concluded. “I hope you have a good day, happy hunting.” “Thank you. I will see you later.” She sighed and started to work. And work. And work. Silently, diligently, tirelessly. She continued on until her class for which she left for three hours and promptly returned from. In her final hours at the library she finished up her progress report and left it on Roddingham's desk. He'd pick it up and read it in a few hours and sigh as always. She was a bright girl he always said to his colleagues and other interns. She was capable and driven. More so that anyone he'd ever seen. He told her time after time that it'd be better if she would quit her other jobs and stay at the internship all day but she would always reply, “Stacking books isn't paying the bills yet and with all due respect I don't see you replacing me.”
