By: Greegrue Steepaploe
In the early gloaming, the ocean was a darker hue, and the sky was not yet bl-wait, no, cerulean, and the air was a bit crisper, as was habitual in the wee hours. A few birds were making raucous cries, as was also habitual, and a man-or a boy, depending on the definition of manhood-dearly wished them to shut up.
Aforementioned soul-that is, the manchild-was staring, gazing,viewing the majestic panorama before him, thankful the bothersome quidnunc known as Leena wasn't here; she was worse than the `gulls. Philosophic observation can only last so long when you're 17, and as if to emphasize that, something intervened.
Serge...Serge blinked. He followed this up with a low whistle and cuckoo noises.
Serge...An inward moan. Any cheeriness detracted from his earlier cinnamon-raison bagel vanished.
Serge...He mentally counted-three? It's usually no more than two.he was now thoroughly spooked. He whipped around nervously.
Se-The voice had stopped, as if its mistake had been forcefully thrown into its metaphorical stomach. Serge turned to face the ocean dutifully, and waited while the advancing wall of water engulfed him. He had eyes shut very tightly, so it stands to reason all he saw was blackness.
That's a pretty little prolouge. Now, I'm going to have to demand 1 review before my ego is bolstered enough to continue.