The Appeal of a Woman by Your Side: Prologue, revised. (Re-Read!)

It was a cool and cloudless September morning. The breeze brushed against the frail autumn leaves, sweeping them through the chilly atmosphere. It was a beautiful sight, she had to admit, but it was a sight that she would never again see. Well, perhaps she would see the same place, the same sky, even the same atmosphere, but she could never come back to this precise day. The same beauty was never to be seen again. It was a day to be wasted on work, yet again. When was it not, for her? Wasn’t that all she ever did? What a waste of life she led. And yet, she led it. She led a life of plainness, and the misery of the plainness was so painstaking that it hurt her heart to admit it. Why lead it? Perhaps in hope to change it for the better? Not even she knew the true reason. After all, it was only her choices in education and her financial situation that trapped her here. Walking along the cracked and beaten sidewalks of the city, she wondered how she ever before had been able to stand it.1

Her boss was uptight and self-centered, but he served his purpose well. Her co-workers seemed, overall, either in a constant display of joy or depression as they worked amongst one another in their close-spaced cubicles. The ones with joy were always cheerful, mostly because they had to be. They had to be there for the others who couldn’t find it within themselves to be happy, but inside it was more than an act than anything. It was an act caused by hope, the hope that one day their joy would be more, more than just the fake smiles it cheered others on with. For, one day, they hoped, it would be true. One day, perhaps it could be their real smile. It would be their first smile in a cold world, where, for just one moment, they were truly happy. That is why she was not one of these people. They lead such fake lives. And, even though hers was plain, at least she wasn’t pretending. She wasn’t depressed, either. She was just… different, yet still the same as many others. She was one who wanted out, yet was stuck here. Unlike most, though, she’d chosen her destiny, nevertheless obnoxiously in her teen years.2

She worked, as she had, the same for years, from eight in the morning until five in the afternoon. The way to it was always bright, and the way back always dark, but inside was only the fake light of lamps and other lights in the boxed offices of the telephone operating service. She wasn’t a very social being off of the phone, and sometimes even on it. Unless spoken to, or needed to be, she never spoke to anyone. One day, though, she did meet someone who actually cared to speak with her. He tried to start a conversation, and, in the end, did. She wondered so much when he asked her on a date. Why her, one who was like all the others, but was so oddly different that she made an outcast of herself? He didn’t seem to think so, for some odd reason which he never stated. The date was as normal as any other date could possibly hope to be. They ate at a nice restaurant, talked casually, and things did go rather smoothly. They talked of life, love, and better times. They explained to each other how they’d gotten into their current situation, and how much they wished to be out of it. They laughed at each other’s jokes as they ate more extravagant food than they probably hadn’t seen since years ago. He had walked her home, as they had come, since, for some reason, he didn’t have a car. He excused this by saying his old one died a month ago and was saving up for a new one. Over the course of the night, she’d found herself very much attracted to his personality and the way he carried himself. Then, something odd occurred. As they turned into the next sidewalk, he asked her if she wanted more to her life. Did she want a new one? She said that it was a nice thought, but such things couldn’t be done.3

She doesn’t remember anything other than that.