the first few paragraphs of Sunset's Prologue

disclaimer: I have not re-edited this in a long time. So there might be some punctuation mistakes or mispelled words. I apologize. I just wanna share my writing.

Prologue:
Lurking In The Shadows

It's night and I'm walking alone. Which, as a 16-year-old minute boy, maybe isn't a great move. But I wanted to see the lights of London for as long as I could. I came here with my parents and brother for the holidays this year. It isn’t that big of a thing considering we live in Yorkshire. But I did not object exclusively because of how fucking amazing this city is. Countryside meets urban meets tech. It simply has everything you need. If it isn’t clear enough: this is my favourite city.

I almost picked up my phone from my pocket to take a picture of the Big Ben lit up for the night, before remembering my phone is dead: another luck for tonight. I’ve got to this point purely out of luck. I have no idea where I am. I don’t even know for how long I kept walking. I just know I did. I mean, my family's rented flat is in Hammersmith. I’m in Westminster, judging by the big clock tower in front of me. That’s more than 6 kilometres! I can’t have walked up till here alone.

But I’m sure I haven’t used transportation. So I sigh and, too exhausted to go on, I go sit on a bench.

Once again, I don’t know how long I just sit here. Not much, I think, because it’s still very dark when I see it. The shadow of a man. He's approaching me. I feel weird. I know I should be scared, but I am rather fascinated by whatever is walking towards me. When he comes out of the shadows, I look a little closer. He’s definitely not much older than me. Two years maybe. But he does have a slight beard. His medium-length golden brown hair falls for a couple millimetres on his shoulders. His skin tone is rather… opaque? That’s the best word I can think of. Or dull. Yeah, his skin was a duller version of an olivaster tone. His eyes are deep brown. I feel like they are staring into my soul the more I look into them. So, I decide to look away, focusing on his attire. A grey t-shirt with a sage green jacket, the same exact colour as the umbrella in his hand. Brown trousers and black Timberland boots. Surely he has a sense of style.

«Are you done checking me out, kid? I know I’m stunning. No need to stare», he says in the most London accent I ever heard in my entire life. «I was not staring. I was just looking. You ain’t see through, mate», I reply in my own accent, which definitely also gives away my hometown. He looked at me with a hint of curiosity. It kind of felt like his eyes were poking my skin. «There’s something different about you…», he says. I raise an eyebrow. «You mean my eyes? I’ve been told.» I should specify this, maybe, but I’ve been told my whole life that my eyes are weird: I have heterochromia. My left eye is grey-ish blue and my right eye is brown. I always loved my eyes, but they do earn me weird looks from people. But the man shakes his head, apparently my eyes aren’t what he meant by “different”, and now I definitely am confused by what he might’ve been implying, and mostly worried. Yet, since I don’t even know how to get back to Hammersmith, and I’m terrible at lying, I’m stuck. «What do you mean by that, then?» I ask, untrusty. He muffles a laugh. «Let’s just say that I know that in a few hours, you’ll forget all of your memories. Except for what happened since the second we met. And each one you thought about during this time». I laugh in his face ‘cause that is literally the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. «Sure, mate. However you want».

And then, he smiles. And what I see terrifies me enough to believe him. His canines. No, not canines. His fangs shined at the sides of his smile, making it way scarier and, somehow, hotter. I start thinking about everything I want to remember. My family. Every single detail about them. I remember my best friends from summer camp, Allen. All the times we hung out. I remember who I am. Each core memory I can make come to my mind. Like the two Taylor Swift concerts I’ve been to in my life and every lyric of all her songs, scamming them quickly through my brain since they are clearly a vital necessity. I try to remember as much as possible while I keep my eyes closed. When I open them, the man is smiling at me, calm and slightly amused. He tilts his head to the side. «Are you done?» he asks, smiling sweetly. I nod. He holds out his hand. «Henry Everston, Elemental History major at 13ElUni», he says, and I raise an eyebrow, deeply confused. «I’m sorry, what history major at what?» He shakes his head, laughing. I don’t get it. Like, at all. What’s the joke? «Everything in due time… I didn’t catch your name?» He puts his index and middle finger under my chin and raises my face to look directly into his eyes: «What is your name, bloke? And age?» I gulp and look into his eyes.

This situation should be horrifying. A slightly older guy, talking to me in this deep, low voice, in the middle of the night on a lonely street? It should be scary. But it’s not. It’s rather… arousing, actually. When I try to answer his question, I feel that my breath is irregular. Oh, God. «J-jacob A-alf-friston. I g-go by J-jack, though… I’m s-sixteen…» That's all I can put out. But that seems to be enough; he lets me go and takes a few steps back. «Are you from around here, Jack?» I shake my head, he sighs. I can’t quite grasp if he’s more surprised, upset, nervous, or, weirdly, worried. «You shouldn’t be out this late. There are bad things around here. Bad people.» I raise an eyebrow and laugh in his face. «Like maybe you? But I think I’m handling myself pretty well.»  He laughs back at me and nods. «Exactly people like me. And worse.» As he says this, he’s back looking right into my eyes. And I know: he’s serious. He takes my wrist in his hand. «I can get you to a safer place, if you trust me. I live close by.» And as he says this, I start to hear noises coming from the blind spots around us. Some really, really weird and creepy noises.

«What was that…?» I ask while I grasp Henry’s hand. Woah, it’s cold as ice. This dude really needs a coat or gloves, at least. «Do. You. Trust me?» he says, alarmed. I nod and let him put his arm around my shoulders. I know it’s probably the worst idea I ever had in my life. But you’re not hearing those noises, they are scaring the shit out of me. I have no choice. So, we start running. Or, well, he starts running, and very fast. My feet are barely touching the ground. I close my eyes. I’m not sure where we’re headed. But I’m too involved to run away from him now.