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The light Of day

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Author's note: i have wrote quite a few books, from the age of 13 it has interested me. This book was the result...  Show full author's note »
Author's note: i have wrote quite a few books, from the age of 13 it has interested me. This book was the result of my book previous, and me wanting to wwrite something with more subtance, this is what came of it.  « Hide author's note
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Chapter 1

Preface
Most people are in raptures in the beauty of daytime. The way the sunlight shone bedazzling the leaves and others such things, though pretty, does not encapture ones mind or ensnare ones soul. No, the only thing capable of that is the brilliant night. Daytime may be picturesque but night intrigues minds and senses to a level incapable of morning. The perfect stillness never found in the hustle and bustle of every day life wrapping its dark arms around you. In the day you see everything so clear, so straight forward, but as soon as darkness hits nothing is for sure anymore. The deformed rock so clear in day becomes a ghostly guardian by night; the shadows cast in daylight now become that of long lost friends. I believe much morestrongly in the power of night, the beauty of turning something ordinary into something extraordinary has to be the most beautiful thing ever created.
It was on a beautiful night like this that it happened. Our two saviours met, our warriors of the light first fell in love with mere outlines and voices. That is true love, when the vouce of an angel is enough to paint a picture of the beautiful face.
This is the story of how our hope united and created the greatest match of all time.
6th November
1856

Chapter 1
John Howard was a man of very few words, gruff and unkempt he was the avoided spectacle of the town. His wayward bronze hair glitter in the midday sun like that of a mlti facetted diamond, but instead of the sigh that many such beautiful things evoked, the people averted their eyes ‘ the glow of the devil’ they would murmur as they crossed the road. It was not that john was a pauper, poor and therefore drove to detest his very self, quite on the contrary. Howard had bee a name held in much esteem in the neighbourhood before his father, Edmunds, death. They had been invited and hosted many parties and social events, all but John. He had always had a strange glint in his eye that made him untrustworthy, so after his fathers decease, he faded into the background. Only child it looked unlikely the Howard name would be around much longer.
Due to this universal dislike, John, not unreasonably, rarely ventured out.To lock oneself in a house so large with only the company of an old decrepit dog and boks is a sure recipe to drive anyone to insanity, and every lonesome day brought this on stronger in Jonathan.
There is a saying that dogs become to look like their owners. Well in unfortunate rustys case John began to look like him. With a matted greasy main, bushy, hairy faces and the stench... That of a sewer rat or a rotting carcass, things normally found in dogs conveyed in the owner. On the rare occasion he did venture out rusty would be bounding at his heels, The villagers whispered of its also devil like glint, through all there 12 years of seeing it they never saw it fatigue or whimper, only silently bound after its master, whos strides where that off a cheetah. Why did he walk so fast? Was he up to some bad deeds? Why did he never aknowledge them? Did his dog understand the human tounge for he was often seen talking to it? They gawked at but never questioned the only man who could answer there inquiries, for to be seen talking with such a man would be social suicide.
This is how John howard had spent the first 29 years of his life, avoided. 8 years of these had been in complete seclusion. His mother, Marie, was the only person who truly love or cared for him, but she passed when he wass but 12, of a flu caught from nursing john only weeks prior. She understood him like no other, not completely, that would be impossible, but she knew his anguish and upset and not being accepted, how was he to know why he was so hated? His mother would comfort it him, let him know she loved him no matter what. So when she was stolen john thought his life would never be full, he was left alone, stranded in a prison where he was the most unpopular inmate. His father had never been keen on him. His elder brother, Edmund, had died at 2 and john had never made up to his expectations, always the disappointment. After the death of his mother they spoke but rarely, the father blaming the son and the son blaming himself.
John had never experienced the sharp pain of love, only that of hate. So it is no wonder he shuddered at the thought of it. His many books told him of its pain and torment and disaster, he hd enough of that in his life, why should he go out and search for someone else to create it for him? His soul companion was Rusty. The perfect companion some might say, for its one that cannot answer. This though helpful at times, crashed down on johns poor soul, for who was to miss how insignifice
ant life after he passed. Dgs are loyal but they have no real memory, not really. John lived in constant fear that his life was but a drop in the ocean compared to those who surrounded him, why should we live a life to unremarkable to even be given a second thought. To live a life without fulfilment is to live no life at all.
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