Narrator: “And as she sluggishly walked into the shower, naked as the day she was born, a thought popped into her tiny, naive, human brain. Carolyn was only 16, and was still in high school. Normally, this would not have been a problem for anyone, as high school is one of those awkward times where your hormones are rushing and you meet a lot of new people and lots of weird things happen.”
“Sadly, none of these “weird, yet awesome, occurences managed to find its way over to Carolyn. She, among her compatriots, was probably the most cynical, boring, and extremely average teenager among them all. She was liked by a modest amount of people. She was admired by some, and generally disliked by others. She had never made enemies, and had never had any loves. Her lack of interest in aggression is often where she believes this inaction of teenager-dom probably stemmed from.”
“But to be honest, she really has no fucking clue.”
“At any rate, she moves around her house, attempting to find her books, her laptop, her phone, a bunch of miscellaneous items, breakfast, her common sense, her arms, her-“
Oh. Hello there. *Ahem*
And what, may I ask, are you doing in the spotless abyss of my living quarters? This is after all a studio for the creatively inclined, sir and/or madam. Wouldn’t want you tracing your oily fingerprints through the pages here. I’m going to have to ask you to leave!
No?!
*Sigh* You’re one of those readers. The kind that J.R.R. Tolkien had to fend off with his blade of pure adamantium in order to preserve any amount of manhood in his goddamn life. The kind that think he/she can write, but haven’t written a damn thing in his/her entire life. The kind that liked to shout out at a poor, defenseless Edgar Allen Poe at a bar, screaming, “I just love that one with all the scythes and crows and gargoyles in it! You’re just so morbid, would you like to get some coffee? Where are you even from anyway?” You have no idea how many people probably did that.
What?
Who am I?
I’m ink. Text. Letters.
You see the little black things tattoo’d on the inside of these pages? These letters that inexplicably appear on the page in jet black ink? Perhaps you’re reading this in a store and you just don’t have time to talk to me (should this idiot of an author get so lucky)?
YOU’RE READING THIS ON A COMPUTER?!
Unsophisticated. I won’t stand for this. Hold on a moment.
I’m back. I scrolled through this obnoxious writer’s My Documents page until I came up with his silly notes. They barely even make sense. But I’m going to post this map along with whatever crap he has about this silly old thing.
You want an education? Read Shelley, or Freud, or whatever it is you annoying brats go to school for these days. Or, if you’d prefer, I’ll post up this pretentious ponce’s “diary”, if that’s what you want.
You say that’s exactly what you wish?
…Well.
I’ll be.
Right then.
Here.
“A massive collection of islands that exist somewhere in an ocean on Earth. The species that all live there thanks to numerous conferences and peace treatises that have resulted in a perfect living environment for all. The dry desert, the colorful forest, the beautiful mountains. The castle in the middle of all of it.
This is Weald Island.
It’s widely considered to be the most beautiful, diverse and eccentric island that has ever existed on Earth. Some scholars say it shouldn’t exist. Other agree that it is the only place on Earth that anyone can go to be accepted for just what they are. A place for all. And yet-
Does it seem real? These colorful trees, the small town in close proximity to all it’s bare necessities, the awkward climate changes? There’s a mystery about this island.
And Carolyn is about to get caught up right there in the middle of all of it.
Welcome, one and all, to Weald Island. The beginning of all good things,
that will, inevitably, come to an end.”
You can leave now.
You’re welcome.
