Bang Bang
The heavy thudding from the ceiling rattled the quietness of the early morning.
On the king-sized bed below, a young man stirred, his face scrunched in annoyance.
"Again…" He muttered, voice raspy with sleep.
With a weary sigh, he dragged himself upright—his limbs moving like a reanimated corpse. His arms stretched overhead, bones cracking softly like old wood.
His dishevelled black hair fell over his clouded obsidian eyes.
The unapologetic banging continued above.
"…Every fucking morning,"
'At least it's been quieter since one of their kids died. Hopefully the rest follow soon—if enough of them drop, the place might sit empty for a while. Finally, some decent sleep,'
He crossed his fingers, lips curling in a silent prayer as he walked to his bathroom.
***
It was a quiet night, one like many others—if only a little colder.
Moonlight shone over a small, empty park, painting the frozen grass in silver light. A lone figure walked the narrow path, his steps crunching against the snow.
He wore a long black winter coat with a fur-lined hood. Tall, around six feet, with black hair parted down the middle and eyes like polished obsidian, he moved with the slow, deliberate pace of someone with nowhere urgent to be.
As he walked out of a tree's shade—the moonlight allowed for a clearer view of his features.
He was a young man, no more than 19 years old. His expression was solemn, nearly vacant. For a moment, his eyes drifted upward, tracing the stars above, before settling again on the path ahead.
He reached a bench by the lakeside and sat, hands buried in his coat pockets. The water shimmered with a reflection of the night sky, as if a second universe stretched beneath the surface.
Across the lake stood a tall, pale tree. Hanging from one of its upper branches, swinging gently in the breeze, was a pair of black boots—tied together by their laces.
He leans back on the bench, closing his eyes and enjoying the quiet coldness of the night.
Step Step
The young man hears the sound of approaching footsteps, he opens his eyes to see an old man taking a seat next to him.
The old man had a full beard and a muscular stature that reflected a small part of the vigour he possessed in his prime.
In his gloved hand, he held something curious: a length of rope with a small metal clip at the end, worn but clearly cared for. It dangled idly from his fingers.
"You look troubled, kid," the old man said, his voice rough with a deep Texas drawl. A calm smile played on his weathered face as he pulled a cigar from his coat pocket.
Kyle didn't respond right away. Silence lingered between them before the young man sighed.
"Give me some wisdom, old man. I really think I need it right about now,"
The old man chuckled. "Wisdom? Hell, I'm not that wise. But I am old."
There was a comfortable silence on the bench, both men appreciating the calmness of the night.
"Are you lost?" The old man asks.
"Giovanni National Park," Kyle replied dryly, not missing a beat. The old man gave a soft laugh—before giving a deep look to the young man.
"You know that's not what I meant,"
Kyle looked up at the sky, the stars reflected in his distant eyes. "I just feel… off. Like I'm running out of time. For what, I'm not even sure,"
The old man didn't respond right away. He let the words settle like dust before finally speaking again.
"What's your name, kid?"
Kyle frowned slightly at the word kid, but let it go. Old folks always used that word for anyone under thirty.
"Kyle,"
The old man nodded. "Well, Kyle. I'm gonna tell you something that might go against everything you've ever been told. But it's the truth.
"You don't need to have it all figured out. Not now. Not even soon."
Kyle turned to him, unimpressed. "The hell kind of advice is that?"
The old man grinned, not the least bit surprised. "Yep. And you'd be shocked how many people need to hear it."
He lit the cigar, took a slow puff, then continued. "Young men these days are under pressure from all sides. Society tells you to be married, graduated, employed, and settled by your mid-twenties. Movies and social media don't help either. They make it look so easy, so perfect,"
Kyle said nothing.
"You watch a movie, not even two hours long, and some awkward kid turns his whole life around. Gets the dream job, defeats the bully, wins the girl—then the credits roll. And suddenly you're left comparing your life to a highlight reel that was never real to begin with,"
"'Comparison is the thief of joy,' right?" Kyle muttered.
The old man smiled, appreciating the quote but pressing on.
"Of course, when you get out of the cinema, and you go back home to your ordinary life. You turn on the TV and watch the news. You see those same actors, getting into all these lawsuits and divorces and drama. And you realise, that was all it was. Fiction,"
He tapped the ash off his cigar.
"You ever heard of how a pine tree grows fast, but an oak tree grows slow?" he asked.
Kyle gave a half-hearted shrug. "I guess,"
"Well, which one lasts longer? Which one shelters more life? Which one do folks pay good money for when they want real, solid furniture?"
"…Oak?"
"That's right, Kyle. People don't go out bragging about their new pine table. They want oak. Strong, steady, valuable,"
He pointed toward the tree across the lake—at the tree that Kyle mentally dubbed 'The Shoe Tree.'
"You see that tree? That's where I met my late wife, Martha."
There was a tenderness in his voice now, laced with a quiet solemnity.
"It's a funny story, actually. I was trying to get her attention while pretending I weren't staring at her. So I acted like I was busy—ended up tying my shoelaces around that branch somehow. Don't ask me how, but I couldn't get them down without cutting the damn things,"
He chuckled nostalgically, but the ache in his eyes told another story.
"Eventually, after making a fool of myself. She came over, tried to help. Neither of us could undo the knot. But she gave me a ride home that day. We were married for fifty years,"
The old man smiles as he finishes his story, a gleam could be seen in his eyes. As if he was reliving 50 years of happiness.
A moment passed. Then another.
Finally, the old man turned to Kyle, eyes solemn now.
"A smooth sea never made a tough sailor. You will encounter a lot of troubles in your life, Kyle. I won't lie and say that they won't break you—'cause they will. But if you can build yourself back up, if you can keep going… then you'll have lived a life worth being proud of,"
With that, the old man stood, brushing ash from his coat. He began to walk away, his footsteps slow and steady.
"What is your name, old man?"
The man stopped, turning just enough for the moonlight to catch his profile. In his hand, he was twirling what Kyle now realized was a dog leash—though there was no dog in sight.
"Name's Darryl. Nice talking to you, Kyle." He offered a final smile.
'Not wise, my ass,' Kyle thought with a scoff—though a small reluctant grin couldn't be hidden.
***
Kyle ended his night with a long, aimless drive through the rain, the steady pulse of club music filling the silence. The neon lights of the city blurred against the windshield, distorted by the downpour, yet he barely registered them.
When he finally stepped into his apartment, he sighed deeply, hanging his coat with slow, deliberate movements
He walks over to the balcony, gazing at the night city view. The city stretched out before him, its endless glow stirring a feeling that he couldn't quite explain.
Taking a seat on the outdoor lounge chair, while turning on soft jazz music, he leans back. The mix of the music and the rain creates a melody that touches his soul.
'I like to sit out here sometimes. I have a habit of mixing memories with music, so when I listen to music—the memory associated with it plays in my mind like a movie,' Kyle narrates in his mind—he is not sure to who. Perhaps his future self who will revisit this memory, on a night just like this.
Kyle basks in the nostalgic feeling as he sits on the balcony for hours—his eyes closed with a serene expression.
_______________________________
Author Note
Hello there, I am LordWuYu. Hope you enjoyed my first prologue chapter.
This is my first story, so I would appreciate any constructive criticism you can give.
This prologue is a bit different from the usual action-packed opening that I have seen so much. I wanted to kind of, set the tone with a mix of introspection and atmosphere, but don't worry because there will be more action than you can get enough of soon enough, that's a promise.
Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed it.
Side note, you should read this while listening to some music. I was listening to Tory Lanez- Lavender Sunflower on repeat while writing this. So I recommend that or some songs by The Weeknd. Both are great. (My personal taste.)
If you have any ideas or advice you wish to provide, please do so in the chapter comments and/or Author Notes just like this.
I have thought about making a story like this for a while, I have a lot of ideas for this story and I don't plan on dropping it. So be patient and stay with this story and read the life of my characters to the end.
Not completely certain about the upload schedule just yet, but I will try and make it at least one chapter per week.
Also, I'm thinking of setting up a Patreon, but I'm not sure how that would really work. Still looking into it. Maybe I will post some future character illustrations. But, we'll just see how it goes. Future me can deal with my problems, I think that's a healthy mindset.
And Finally...Have a good day. And in case I don't see ya, good afternoon, good evening and goodnight.
(If you get that reference, you are blessed.}
And thus, I bid thee farewell.
;)