Now, I had this idea for the past few days, story wise, so not sure how this will turn out. Plus, a little tight for time at the moment so changing this to a 17 minute writing sprint. Yes, it's a Bank Holiday in the UK but, like I said earlier, I was a lazy, sleep on the sofa kinda day!
Anyway, I hope this story idea comes out ok. I might annoy a podcast and go "If you need an idea for prologue for your next series..." Ok, stop watches at the ready! 17 minutes! See you on the other side!
Prologue
They say that, when you’re about to die, your life flashes before your eyes.
Every good and bad memory. Every kiss. Every betrayal. Every what-if. Everything.
This, of course, is a lie. As she was now finding out.
She was plummeting to the ground, gravity holding her too tight and bringing her down at an alarming speed.
She would have screamed if she could get air in her lungs. But there wasn’t time.
No time now to undo it all.
Why did she have to go to the roof? Why couldn’t she have stayed at the office party? Why did she slip out, climb the stairs onto the office building’s roof? Why had she waited till tonight to confront them over what they have done? Why couldn’t she have just stayed at the party? Why why why?
And who would believe the truth? No one would now because she told no one. She had been so careful with her texts and emails and sideway glances. They were both careful.
But everyone in her office had a secret. Secrets that could get a girl killed.
As she was now finding out.
She wondered, for one horrified moment, what people would say. Wondered if they would think she had jumped and killed herself.
No. No, her brother wouldn’t accept that. He would refuse.
And he would be right.
She hadn’t jumped.
She was pushed.
What would he do, her brother? Her brain tried to grab the last words she said to him, his last words to her. She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t remembered...
I’m sorry were her last thoughts before her body crashed into the car that was parked in the room.
The metal wrapped round her body like tin fold or tissue paper, the glass breaking into clumps rather than shatter and there was a moment of stillness, of shock, before the car alarm began to scream, cutting the December night air.
Then the real screaming begun.
If it hadn’t been for the blood or the angles of one or two of her broken bones, she would have simply looked like she was sleeping. But her eyes were open and staring, unblinkingly upward.
She didn’t see her life flash before her eyes.
She didn’t see the tall office building she used to work at glitter in the London street lights.
She didn’t see the shadow on the roof of the building, staring down at her in shock and horror, their hands covering their mouth to keep the silent scream in.
She didn’t see the heavy sky, the visible stars or the beginning of the snow fall.
She saw nothing at all.
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