Bang Bang
The heavy thudding from the ceiling rattled the quiet of the early morning.
On the king-sized bed below, a young man stirred awake, his face scrunched in annoyance.
"The longer I live, the more I understand why roosters start their day screaming…" He muttered, voice raspy with sleep.
With a sigh, he dragged himself upright, his limbs moving like reanimated corpses. His arms stretched overhead, and his bones cracked softly like old wood.
His dishevelled black hair fell over his clouded black eyes.
The unapologetic banging continued above.
"…Every fucking morning."
'At least it's been quieter since one of their kids died. Hopefully, the rest will follow soon. If enough of them drop, the place might sit empty for a while. I might finally get some decent sleep.'
He crossed his fingers in a silent prayer as he walked to his bathroom.
***
It was a quiet night, one like many others—if only a little colder.
The moonlight shone over a small, empty park, painting the frosted grass in silver light. A lone figure walked along the narrow path, his steps crunching against the snow.
He wore a long white winter coat with a fur-lined hood. Tall, around six feet, with black hair parted down the middle and eyes equally as dark. He moved with the slow, deliberate pace of someone with nowhere urgent to be.
As he walked out of a tree's shade, the lamp lights allowed for a clearer view of his features.
He was a young man, no more than 20 years old. His expression was 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 frozen 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 night's silence.
Step. Step.
The sound of approaching footsteps enters his ears. The young man opens his eyes to see an aged gentleman taking a seat next to him.
The old man had a full white beard and a muscular stature that reflected a small part of the vigour he possessed in his prime.
In his gloved hand, dangling from his fingers, he held something curious: a length of rope with a small metal clip at the end, worn but clearly cared for.
"You alright, kid?" the old man asked, 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."
There was a silence between the two before the old man chuckled. "You know, when a stranger asks that question, it's polite to say, "I'm good" and then shut the fuck up."
The young man turned his head with a baffled expression.
"You are completely ruining your 'wise-old-man' vibe, you know."
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-five.
"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 folks 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 fuckin' 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, beats up the fucker who's been giving him a hard time, 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 movies. 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. "Sure."
"Well, which one lasts longer? Which one shelters more life? Which one do folks pay good money for when they want real, solid furniture?"
"…I don't-Oak, I guess?"
"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. To this day, I don't know how, but I couldn't get them down without cutting the damn things."
He chuckled nostalgically.
"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 were 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's 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 realised was a dog leash, though there was no dog in sight.
"Name's Vergil Stroman. It was 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 of his black Mustang. 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 whom. 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.
It's a bit different from the usual action-packed opening that I have seen so many times. 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.
Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed it.
Side note: You should read this while listening to some club-like 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 it, and read the life of my characters to the end.
Literally, as I am writing this, I just had a great idea.
Anyway. I am not completely certain about the upload schedule just yet, but I will try and make it at least a couple of chapters 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.
;)