The Beginning of a Novel Essay

I was tiptoeing on the sole of my foot as though I was participating in an elegant ballet dance but the way in which I was steadily and stealthily moving did not seem so pleasing to the eye as theatrical ballet would. The incentive for my unusual behaviour was so nobody would hear me and wake up from their slumber.

This technique of walking in secrecy seemed as though I was in a “cops and robbers” situation, where I was the robber rushing away surreptitiously but cautiously, with endurance and patience but still moving rapidly and swiftly because of the fear of being caught, after thieving a precious jewel that obviously meant the world to some filthy rich business woman, who seemed to care of absolutely nothing but her extreme wealth.

My horrendously huge but cowardly heart was thumping powerfully, passionately and vigorously against the bones of my delicate ribs like a drumstick banging brutally against the drum and then I felt a sickening sensation in the pit of empty stomach. I was gradually moving along the hallway of the deadly dark, dusty and dirty guesthouse where only the drunk and the druggies of working class people would come and spend their lonely nights alone after leaving their one-night stand girlfriends and their nine month pregnant housewives behind, when they realised things got too awkward and difficult.

The surroundings of this ugly abode were as cold as ice and as black as coal. The electricity had gone out due to a dangerous power cut that happened a month ago but not a soul had been bothered to repair it because they knew they could not afford it. I could not see a thing, experiencing this, and then I knew how it felt like to be as blind as a bat. As I was walking I was hoping and praying to God that I would not fall on something that could severely hurt me or step on creaky floorboard which could wake some angry thug up from his deep and peaceful dream.

I thought to myself at that second that isn’t it strange how these people seem to be so conceited and arrogant during the day but as soon they fall into this trance, which is called sleep, they become so vulnerable? The only light (which I have to tell you did not help at that moment, but now I think back at it, and I can safely say it saved my life) was the light of the moon. It looked beautiful. Resembling a nail being clipped and then put up in the sky shined with all its luminosity.

As it lightened up the foyer, I got even more terrified than I was before because now I could see the true unattractiveness and ugliness of where I was. Spiders’ webs that were tangled up in all sorts of elliptical designs at the corners of the hallway glistened in the light of the moon. The temperature outside was about ten degrees below zero and it was raining aggressively. I could hear the large raindrops that had fallen from the black soot coloured clouds hammering the thin sheets of glass windows.

The rain which was as cold as solid icicles was dripping through the holes of the grubby ceiling after a two second interval, which was swiftly increasing to a half a second interval. The ceiling was wallpapered but painted over with ‘dazzling white paint’, which now at this stage was no longer dazzling but a very dull grey colour. The rain had made the wallpaper wet which was slowly pealing off. I could see there had once been a fire in this house because there were burnt stains on the ceiling where the fire had tried devouring the wallpaper. I crept down the stairs like a baby who crawls on all fours.

I was looking around as craftily as a fox, just hoping that an intoxicated individual hooligan after having twenty pints of an illegal alcoholic drink, would not see me. The wooden staircase leading into the jet-black darkness, had steps missing from it. I realised this was the case when I was just about to fall down and give up my precious existence for a heroic cause which was, may I add, to get a chipped glass of pure mineral water which contained calcium ions which were my only source of vitamins during the hours of the prolonged day to quench my dehydration.

It was easily noticeable that the impassive staircase was ‘home-made’ because the auburn coloured chipboard wood was not furnished nor cut accurately cut neither was it screwed together properly so it could look remotely professional. In fact the long stacks of wood were hammered together so it could only withstand an infant’s weight and no more than that. So when the big fat, ugly as sin gangsters placed all their heavy weight on the flimsy banisters, they obviously collapsed, excuse the pun, which I have to say is true.

However my deep sympathies have to go to these ruffians, because how could they have possibly known that the banisters would break because they don’t even have half the brain of an ass. Therefore by the time it was my turn to go down into the other realm, I had to close my eyes, put my faith in myself, and take one giant leap for my selfish necessity; thirst. I peered through one eye and my gaze stretched beyond the obscurity into more gloominess. I looked down at my bare, ice cold feet. I was standing on a sharp nail that pierced my soft skin.

Deep scarlet red blood flowed onto the stairs. I sat down on the step, there was nothing below my feet and nothing behind my back, but I just sat there in exasperation because I was alone and I needed someone to blame, but I had no-one to hold responsible for my faults and that made me angry. I wanted to scream for help but I didn’t have the energy and liveliness that I once used to have. I sat there thinking. Then I whispered to myself in the quietest tone, ‘What went wrong? ‘ I didn’t have the answer to my pathetic, feeble question.

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