Miraj

The world took him. It warped him. It changed him. It made him what he was. And then it threw him away. This is the story of a boy who lived, of a boy who killed, of a boy who died. This is the story of a ghost without a past, a string of the memories of a life once lived, now long forgotten. A glimpse of what might have been, had things been different, had the world been kinder. (This is my idea for the corporation story contest. I plan for it to become a full length novel, hopefully in time for the contest! Please support the cause and comment/like, because otherwise I really have motivation issues and will probably forget and work on another story instead).

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1. Prologue

            There is little in this world as beautiful as the falling leaves of autumn, each bedecked in its own form of glory, swirling and dancing in the wind. The colors that blend together and yet remain separate. The individual leaves, no two alike in shape or shade. The sheer innocence of a scene profound enough to induce excitement in children and nostalgia in their elders. Yes, in this world there is little that can compare.

            She was one of those things of rare quality which can compete with and, in her case surpass, the first falling leaves. She contained within her all the beauty of the colors, all the ethereal perfection of the wind, and all the vibrancy of the populace. She was, to all who saw her, a perfect creature.

            But like all perfect things, and, in fact, all things in general, she too came to an end. At the height of glory she fell, like a star plummeting from the heavens into oblivion. Those who once had marveled turned a blind eye to the still and lifeless form, for without her vitality she was nothing, her beauty little more than an illusion.

            She became a forgotten and lost being, a creature of darkness and death. She became a phantom.

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